DN 


-§. 
%i]AINiH\\v 


INTRODUCTIONS 

PAINTERS  SCULPTORS 
AND  GRAPHIC  ARTISTS 


BY 

MARTIN   BIRNBAUM 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERIC  FAIRCHILD  SHERMAN 
UCMXIX 


*• 


Copyright,   1919,  by 
Frederic  Fairchild  Sherman 


TO 

MY    FRIEND 
ANNIE    BERTRAM    WEBB 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

AUBREY  BEARDSLEY 3 

CHARLES  CONDER           15 

RICKETTS  &  SHANNON 24 

~~  LEON  BAKST 29 

'MAURICE  STERNE 4° 

PAUL  MANSHIP 51 

1/iEuE  NADELMAN 59 

EDMUND  DULAC "9 

KAY  NIELSEN 7& 

ALBERT  STERNER  83 

ROBERT  FREDERICK  BLUM 91 

x  •  JULES  PASCIN 101 

ALFRED  STEVENS  106 

JOHN  FLAXMAN 115 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

AUBREY    BEARDSLEY 

KLAFSKY  AS  ISOLDE 4 

LAUNCELOT  AND  THE  FOUR  QUEENS     ....          8 

CHARLES   CONDER 

SILK  FANS 16 

DECORATIVE  PANEL  ON  SILK 20 

CHARLES    H.    SHANNON 

THE  ARTIST.     LITHOGRAPH 24 

THE  LADY  IN  BLACK  FUR.     PAINTING      ...        24 

CHARLES    RICKETTS 

DON  JUAN.      PAINTING 26 

POSTER  FOR  "THE  DYNASTS."     LITHOGRAPH  .        26 

LEON    BAKST 

COSTUME    FOR  A    DANCER.       WATER    COLOR 

DRAWING 32 

COSTUME  FOR  M.  MASSINE.      WATER  COLOR 

DRAWING 36 

MAURICE    STERNE 

BALINESE  MOTHER.      PAINTING 42 

PUEBLO   INDIAN.      BRONZE 48 

PAUL    MANSHIP 

PLAYFULNESS.      BRONZE 52 

TIME   AND   THE    DANCING    HOURS.      BRONZE 

SUN-DIAL 54 

PORTRAIT    OF    PAULINE     FRANCES     MANSHIP, 

THREE  WEEKS  OLD.      BRONZE  AND  MARBLE        56 


ELIE    NADELMAN 

PORTRAIT  OF  A  CHILD.      MAHOGANY    ....  60 

KNEELING  DANCER.      BRONZE 64 

YOUNG  DEER.     BRONZE 66 

EDMUND    DULAC 

WATER  COLOR  DRAWING  FOR  "THE  CHEST- 
NUT HORSE" 70 

WATER  COLOR  DRAWING  FOR  "THE  FRIAR 

AND  THE  BOY 72 

KAY    NIELSEN 

THE   WAR    LORD.      WATER    COLOR    DRAWING        78 
WATER  COLOUR  DRAWING  FOR  "  EAST  OF  THE 

SUN  AND  WEST  OF  THE  MOON"  80 

ALBERT  STERNER 

PORTRAIT  OF  OAKES  AMES.      DRAWING   ...         84 
THE  STRANGER.      LITHOGRAPH 88 

ROBERT    BLUM 

A  GEISHA.     WATER  COLOR 92 

MOODS  OF  Music.     OIL  PAINTING 96 

JULES    PASCIN 

WATER    COLOR    DRAWING      102 

CUBAN   DRAWINGS 104 

ALFRED    STEVENS 

CONSOLATION.      PAINTING 106 

NOVELETTE.      PAINTING 112 

JOHN    FLAXMAN 

THF.TIS  AND  THE  NEREIDS.      DRAWING    ...       118 
LAMPETIA  COMPLAINING  TO  APOLLO.     DRAWING      124 


INTRODUCTIONS 

PAINTERS     SCULPTORS 
AND  GRAPHIC  ARTISTS 


AUBREY  VINCENT  BEARDSLEY 


HE  main  facts  of  Beardsley's  out- 
wardly uneventful  life  can  be  given 
in  a  few  words.  He  was  born  at 
Brighton  on  August  21,  1872,  three 
days  before  the  birth  of  that  other 
inimitable  artist,  Max  Beerbohm. 
We  have  no  particularly  interesting  facts  about 
his  parents  or  ancestry,  but  all  his  critics  mention 
his  surviving  sister  Mabel,  the  English  actress, 
who  was  a  sympathetic  helpful  comrade.  When 
he  was  still  a  child,  symptoms  of  tuberculosis, 
and  a  genius  which  overflowed  into  many  fields  of 
artistic  endeavor,  appeared  simultaneously.  In 
1883  he  was  giving  concerts  with  his  sister  in 
London.  Shortly  afterwards  we  hear  of  him 
reading  omnivorously,  starting  a  history  of  the 
Armada,  making  clever  caricatures  of  his  mas- 
ters at  Brighton  Grammar  School,  taking  part 
in  theatricals,  drawing  his  first  published 
sketches,  and  writing  a  farce  wrhich  enjoyed 
the  serious  critical  attention  of  the  town  where 
it  was  performed.  He  left  school  in  1888  and 
worked  successively  in  an  architect's  studio 
and  an  insurance  office.  Although  many  pic- 

C33 


tures  of  an  earlier  date  exist,  his  career  as  a 
professional  graphic  artist  may  be  said  to  have 
begun  in  1893,  with  the  publication  of  Sir 
Thomas  Malory's  "Le  Morte  d' Arthur,"  by  J.  M. 
Dent  &  Company.  In  April  of  that  year  Joseph 
Pennell,  the  well-known  American  etcher,  in- 
troduced the  new  illustrator  in  the  first  number 
of  "The  Studio."  From  that  time  forward  the 
story  of  his  life  is  an  inspiring  but  painful 
journal  of  a  dying  genius,  working  feverishly 
and  searching  in  vain  for  a  climate  which 
would  give  him  the  strength  necessary  to  com- 
plete his  work.  He  died  at  Mentone  on  March 
1 6,  1898,  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his  life, 
after  having  been  received  into  the  Catholic 
Church. 

Beardsley  was  the  most  eminent  of  a  group 
of  men  who  died  while  still  young,  but  who  lived 
long  enough  to  accomplish  something  original 
and  important  in  art  or  literature.  They  were 
all  constantly  associated  with  one  another  in 
their  lives  and  work.  Here  we  need  only  mention 
Ernest  Dowson,  for  whose  precious  volumes  of 
verse  Beardsley  made  some  of  his  happiest  dec- 
orations; Charles  Conder,  the  English  Watteau, 
a  romantic  painter  whose  fans  and  paintings  on 
silk  are  among  the  most  exquisite  works  of  art 
ever  produced  by  an  Englishman;  Lionel  John- 
son, a  genuine  poet  and  an  important  figure  in 
the  Celtic  movement,  of  which  William  Butler 
Yeats  is  now  the  acknowledged  leader;  Leonard 
Smithers,  their  irresponsible  publisher;  and  our 

L4] 


KLAFSKY  AS  Isounn 

Dnni-inu  liy  Aubrey  Reardsley 

Collection  of  A.  E.  Gullatin,  Esq. 


own  Josiah  Flynt,  or  "Cigarette,"  as  the  tramps 
called  him,  who  met  the  Englishmen  before  he 
too  "passed  on  for  keeps,"  in  a  little  back  room 
in  the  Crown  Tavern,  near  Leicester  Square, 
"a  back  parlor  pushed  up  against  a  bar." 
The  grim,  tragic  pathos  of  madness,  drink,  and 
disease  attaches  to  their  names.  Of  them  all, 
one  alone  died  with  a  jest  on  his  lips,  and  Oscar 
Wilde's  tragic  career  overshadows  the  whole 
period.  Fortunately,  we  still  have  Arthur  Sy- 
mons,  whose  appreciations  will  always  remain 
the  starting-point  for  future  studies  of  their  lives 
and  achievements;  William  Rothenstein,  the  dis- 
tinguished painter,  who  began  his  career  by  mak- 
ing a  famous  series  of  contemporary  portraits  in 
lithography,  and  "Max,"  the  incomparable  cari- 
caturist and  essayist,  who  will  remain  forever 
young  and  a  dandy. 

It  was  Beardsley's  ambition  to  be  grouped  with 
these  men,  not  only  as  an  artist,  but  as  a  writer, 
and  in  a  measure  he  succeeded.  To  be  sure,  his 
literary  efforts,  consisting  of  a  few  poems  and  a 
fantastic  fragmentary  rococo  romance,  fill  only 
one  slender  volume,  but  "Under  the  Hill,"  which 
is  a  travesty  of  the  Tannhauser  legend,  has  an 
unique  flavor.  The  hand  of  an  amateur  is  easily 
detected  and  the  work  is  obviously  influenced  by 
the  eighteenth-century  Frenchmen,  but  you  feel, 
as  in  the  case  of  Whistler,  that  the  writer  was 
prodigiously  talented  and  that  he  was  on  the 
threshold  of  complete  mastery.  His  verses  are 
highly  polished  and  his  prose  is  strange,  exotic, 


and  artificial.  Its  bizarre  music  captivates  the 
ear,  and  it  may  be  said  to  appeal  even  to  the  eye, 
in  somewhat  the  same  way  as  his  designs.  It  is 
the  work  of  a  sick  prodigy  who  has  intuitively 
absorbed  all  the  secrets  of  French  eroticism  and 
is  laughing  at  the  shock  he  will  give  John  Bull. 
He  adored  the  art  and  literature  of  France,  and 
his  intimate  knowledge  of  French  belles-lettres 
amazed  all  his  friends.  Balzac  was  a  great  pas- 
sion with  him,  and  the  works  of  Baudelaire,  Ver- 
laine,  Gautier  and  Flaubert,  were  his  inspirations. 
In  the  interesting  introduction  to  the  French  edi- 
tion of  "Under  the  Hill,"  Jacques  Blanche,  who 
painted  his  portrait,  comments  on  Beardsley's 
extraordinary  familiarity  with  the  literature  of 
France,  and  adds,  "Ai-je  jamais  entendu  un  de 
mes  compatriotes  parler  de  Moliere  et  dc  Racine 
comme  lui?  Racine  surtout,  qui  reste  ferme  a 
la  plupart,  il  le  savait  par  coeur,  et  il  recitait  les 
choeurs  d'Athalie  et  d' Esther  comme  des  prieres." 
Beardsley's  romance,  however,  does  not  affect 
the  spirit  of  the  great  dramatists.  Its  extrava- 
gant baroque  atmosphere  and  the  strange  pageant 
of  its  characters  can  best  be  suggested  by  using 
Beardsley's  own  grotesque  vocabulary:  "Slim 
children  in  masque  and  domino,  smiling  horribly; 
exquisite  letchers  leaning  over  the  shoulders  of 
smooth  doll-like  ladies,  and  doing  nothing  partic- 
ular; terrible  little  pierrots  posing  as  mulierasts, 
or  pointing  at  something  outside  the  picture; 
and  unearthly  fops  and  strange  women  mingling 
in  some  rococo  room  lighted  mysteriously  by  the 


flicker  of  a  dying  fire  that  throws  huge  shadows 
upon  wall  and  ceiling." 

Even  this  short  quotation  is  enough  to  show 
that  there  is  the  same  kind  of  fault  and  excel- 
lence in  his  designs  and  writings,  and  we  are  not 
surprised  to  learn  that  he  enjoyed  playing  the 
piano  with  a  human  skeleton  posed  and  bal- 
anced on  the  music  stool  beside  him,  as  though 
the  rattling  bones  were  joining  him  in  some  for- 
bidding duet.  One  can  best  describe  such  genius 
as  maladij.  He  cultivated  a  magical  technique 
which  could  convert  the  most  repulsive  ugliness 
into  a  strange,  fascinating  beauty.  Although  he 
was  essentially  a  great  satirist,  the  common  youth- 
ful error  of  starting  out  by  scandalizing  his  native 
land  tempted  him  to  commit  many  extrava- 
gances. It  is,  however,  not  our  province  to  find 
fault  with  him  for  having  chosen,  to  a  large  extent, 
unsavory  and  unwholesome  material  instead  of 
subjects  which  breathe  the  May-time  fragrance 
associated  with  Anglo-Saxon  art. 

His  designs  fall  naturally  into  certain  groups. 
Disregarding  his  first  efforts  as  an  amateur,  the 
first  period  extends  to  the  year  1893,  when  "Le 
Morte  d' Arthur"  and  three  volumes  of  "Bons 
Mots"  by  English  wits  appeared,  and  the  editor 
of  "The  Pall  Mall  Budget"  commissioned  him 
to  draw  illustrations  of  contemporary  interest 
for  that  magazine.1  He  had  already  been  en- 

1  An  interesting  group  of  these  early  works  which  once 
belonged  to  Frederick  H.  Evans,  the  London  book-dealer 
and  photographer,  were  sold  at  auction  in  New  York  City, 
during  the  Spring  of  1919. 


couraged  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes  and  Burne- Jones, 
and  the  uncommonly  appropriate  drawings  for 
Malory's  romance  were  strongly  influenced  by  the 
work  of  the  famous  Preraphaelite.  The  "Bons 
Mots"  drawings  bear  a  superficial  resemblance  to 
second-rate  Japanese  prints.  The  following  year 
the  drawings  to  "Salome"  appeared,  and  a  few 
discerning  critics  realized  that  Beardsley  had  be- 
come a  master  of  decorative  graphic  art.  To 
quote  from  the  excellent  monograph  by  Robert 
Ross:  "Before  commencing  'Salome'  two  events 
contributed  to  give  Beardsley  a  fresh  impetus  and 
stimulate  his  method  of  expression:  a  series  of 
visits  to  the  collection  of  Greek  vases  in  the  British 
Museum  (prompted  by  an  essay  of  Mr.  D.  S. 
McCoII)  and  to  the  famous  Peacock  Room  of  Mr. 
Whistler  in  Prince's  Gate  —  one  the  antithesis 
of  Japan,  the  other  of  Burne-Jones."  No  designs 
like  them  had  ever  been  seen  before,  and  the 
irritated  critics,  mystified  by  genius,  ignored  his 
marvelous  precise  lines  and  decorative  qualities, 
seized  upon  anatomical  weaknesses  in  his  draw- 
ing and  certain  obviously  perverse  features,  and 
condemned  him  as  the  exponent  of  decadence. 
The  attacks  grew  more  virulent  when  the  first 
volume  of  "The  Yellow  Book"  appeared  in  April 
1894.  Beardsley  had  already  done  other  work  - 
chiefly  the  ingenious  title-pages  and  frontispieces 
for  the  "Keynote"  series  -  -  for  John  Lane,  who 
shares  the  credit  of  having  discovered  and  en- 
couraged him.  'The  Yellow  Book"  became  the 
recognized  vehicle  for  publishing  the  work  of 

C83 


HOW.F(M\.QVEENS. 
FOWD.LAVNCELOT. 
SLEEPING. 


LANCELOT  AND  run  Foru  Qi KHNS 
'   Diaiuins  l>y  Aubrey  Beardsley 


Beardsley,  its  art  editor.  In  its  first  volumes  were 
disclosed  many  new  phases  of  his  powers,  his 
devilish  wit,  his  peculiar  insidious  grip  and  satiri- 
cal sting.  The  fury  of  the  affronted  art  critics 
was  followed  by  the  rupture  writh  John  Lane, 
which  resulted  in  the  publication  by  Leonard 
Smithers,  in  1896,  of  "The  Savoy,"  under  Arthur 
Symons's  literary  editorship.  In  the  same  year, 
Smithers  brought  out  what  are  considered  by  many 
admirers  Beardsley's  masterpieces, --the  exqui- 
site embroideries  for  Pope's  "Rape  of  the  Lock," 
which  convinced  Whistler  that  the  young  man 
was  "a  very  great  artist,"  and  the  extraordinary 
drawings,  without  backgrounds,  for  the  "Lysis- 
trata"  of  Aristophanes.  In  1897,  besides  exe- 
cuting book-plates,  miscellaneous  drawings,  and 
cover  designs,  —  notably  the  superb  "Ali  Baba," 
and  the  lovely  lines  which  adorn  Dowson's  verses, 
-  he  illustrated  the  last-mentioned  poet's  charm- 
ing pastoral,  "The  Pierrot  of  the  Minute."  In 
the  year  of  his  death  there  appeared  a  portfolio 
of  reproductions  of  his  curious  illustrations  for 
"Mademoiselle  de  Maupin,"  and  some  beautiful 
lead-pencil  designs  and  initials  for  Ben  Jonson's 
"Volpone,"  which  constitute  his  last  works. 
These  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  possible 
further  development,  concerning  which,  however, 
it  would  be  idle  to  speculate.  In  examining  these 
works  one  is  immediately  impressed  by  the  great 
variety  of  obvious  influences  which  dominated 
him.  Whistler,  Ricketts,  Mantegna,  Botticelli, 
Eisen,  Walter  Crane,  the  Japanese,  and  the  Sil- 


houettists,  may  be  mentioned  at  random.  No 
other  artist  of  the  first  order  was  ever  so  receptive, 
and  none  ever  attached  himself  to  a  particular 
tradition  for  a  shorter  time.  He  had  hardly 
succumbed  to  some  new  influence  before  it  became 
in  its  turn  a  mere  passing  phase  of  his  develop- 
ment. You  are  constantly  amazed  by  the  variety 
of  methods  used  by  him  during  the  same  period,  and 
by  the  range  of  his  literary  sympathies.  He  drew 
his  inspiration  from  the  most  varied  sources,— 
Pope,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  Ju- 
venal, Lucian,  and  Aristophanes,  Gautier,  Du- 
mas, de  Laclos,  and  Balzac,  Wagner  and  Chopin. 
Now  and  then  he  introduced  portraits  or  carica- 
tures of  friends  and  acquaintances  into  his  draw- 
ings. Wilde  and  Henry  Harland  are  seen  in  the 
frontispiece  to  John  Davidson's  "Plays";  the 
Latin  quarter  Pierrot  holding  the  hour-glass 
in  Dowson's  pastoral  phantasy,  is  Charles  Conder; 
Max  Beerbohm  and  Whistler  appear  in  the  "Bons 
Mots"  grotesques;  Rejane's  mask  was  used  by 
him  again  and  again.  How  he  would  have  reveled  in 
the  sinuous  grace  and  Egyptian  attitudes  of  Ida 
Rubinstein,  the  young  Russian  dancer  who  in- 
spired D'Annunzio's  "Saint  Sebastien"! 

In  spite,  however,  of  Beardsley's  faculty  for 
assimilation,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  flattered 
and  annoyed  by  a  legion  of  imitators  and  forg- 
ers, his  work  can  rarely,  if  ever,  be  mistaken, 
unless  he  himself  chooses  mischievously  to  de- 
ceive you.  Degas,  in  an  unpublished  fragment 
by  Oscar  Wilde,  is  quoted  as  having  said:  "II  y 


a  quelque  chose  plus  terrible  encore  que  le  bour- 
geois, —  c'est  rhomme  qui  nous  singe."  No  man 
ever  suffered  more  at  the  hands  of  these  apes  than 
Beardsley,  but  he  remained  inimitable,  and  the 
vast  quantities  of  forgeries  can  fool  no  one.  His 
artistic  accent,  so  to  speak,  is  unmistakably 
French,  but  it  is  an  error  to  compare  his  work, 
except  from  the  moral  point  of  view,  with  that 
of  men  like  Felicien  Rops  or  Toulouse-Lautrec. 
Occasionally  these  men  evoke  similar  emotions, 
but  their  methods  are  quite  different. 

Knowing  that  he  had  only  a  few  years  of  work 
before  him,  Beardsley  was  feverishly,  incessantly 
working,  and  produced  many  hundreds  of  draw- 
ings in  rapid  succession.  He  was  socially  active, 
too,  however,  and  loved  fine  clothes  and  rare 
clarets.  He  seemed  determined  to  live  his  short 
life  gaily,  and  always  had  time  for  his  friends, 
because  he  worked  chiefly  at  night,  by  the  light 
of  those  long  candles  which  he  repeatedly  intro- 
duced into  his  fantastic  designs.  His  life,  as 
revealed  by  his  associates  and  by  the  strange, 
inconsequential  letters  which  have  been  published, 
reads,  indeed,  like  a  morbid  psychological  novel 
by  Arthur  Schnitzler.  The  coterie  of  people  who 
visited  him  in  the  somber  Cambridge  street 
studio,  furnished  in  black,  and  those  who  sur- 
rounded him  at  Dieppe,  have  only  the  kindest 
things  to  say  about  his  engaging,  persuasive 
personality  and  charming  presence,  and  they 
maintain  that  his  pose  served  merely  to  hide  the 
deep  and  finely  serious  feelings  of  a  shy,  earnest 


man.  Among  these  people,  besides  the  English 
"Savoy"  contributors,  were  the  genial  north- 
erner, Fritz  Thaulow,  with  his  blonde  family, 
and  Jacques  Blanche,  who  has  written  interest- 
ing reminiscences  of  the  whole  colony.  Some 
friends,  on  the  other  hand,  have  said  that  Beardsley 
craved  for  the  sensational  celebrity  of  a  profes- 
sional beauty.  To  achieve  such  notoriety  he  was 
guilty  of  impudent  conceits,  artistic  indiscretions, 
and  anachronisms,  like  putting  Manon  Lescaut 
and  Marquis  de  Sade  on  Salome's  book-shelf. 
At  any  rate,  whether  these  statements  are  cor- 
rect or  not,  he  certainly  enjoyed  a  reputation 
wider  than  he  could  have  expected.  He  became 
the  storm-center  of  art  criticism,  and  his  detractors 
saw  impropriety  lurking  in  every  stroke  of  his 
pen.  This  adverse  criticism  seemed  only  to  arouse 
his  morbid  gaiety,  and  he  became  more  and  more 
ingeniously  unpleasant.  When  his  editor  was 
forced  to  bowdlerize  a  drawing,  Beardsley  sent 
proofs  of  it  to  friends  and  wrote  on  the  margin: 

"  Because  one  figure  was  undressed, 
This  little  drawing  was  suppressed. 

It  was  unkind, 

But  never  mind  - 
Perhaps  it  all  was  for  the  best." 

Unfortunately,  he  regretted  these  boyish  pranks 
when  it  was  too  late,  and  what  may  perhaps 
rank  technically  as  the  culminating-point  of  his 
genius  can  never  be  publicly  shown.  He  realized 
this,  and  referred  to  the  drawings  in  the  last  letter 


to  his  publisher,  Leonard  Smithers.  This  is  said 
to  have  been  written  at  the  Hotel  Cosmopolitain 
on  March  7,  1 898,  and  is  the  most  painfully  serious 
and  pathetic  commentary  we  know  of,  on  the  dan- 
ger of  being  a  youthful  tragic-comedian. 

•  MENTONE. 

Jesus  is  our  Lord  and  Judge. 
DEAR  FRIEND: 

I  implore  you  to  destroy  all  copies  of  "Lysis- 
trata"  and  bad  drawings.  Show  this  to  PoIIitt 
and  conjure  him  to  do  same.  By  all  that  is  holy, 
— all  obscene  drawings. 

AUBREY  BEARDSLEY. 
In  my  death  agony. 

The  volume  from  which  this  is  taken  is  one 
of  the  artistic  publications  of  Hans  von  Weber 
of  Munich.  It  consists  of  a  collection  of  letters 
to  Smithers,  well  translated  into  German  by 
their  owner,  Fritz  Waerndorfer  of  Vienna,  who 
has  one  of  the  best  existing  collections  of  orig- 
inal Beardsleys.  It  must  not  be  confused  with 
the  English  letters  published  by  Longmans,  Green 
&  Co.  At  the  end  of  the  book  there  are  a  few 
notes  which  throw  a  valuable  light  on  some  of  the 
sources  of  Beardsley's  inspiration  and  the  way  in 
which  he  worked.  It  was  edited  by  Dr.  Franz 
Blei,  who  introduced  Beardsley  to  Germany  and 
Austria,  where  his  works  are  now  eagerly  sought 
for  by  the  greatest  museums.  Berlin  has  ac- 
quired his  portrait  of  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  and 
Vienna  owns  the  drawing  for  "Lucian"  entitled 


"The  Vintage."  The  marvelous  frontispiece  to 
the  Morte  cT Arthur  is  owned  by  Herbert  von 
Garvens  of  Hannover.  His  influence  is  grate- 
fully acknowledged  by  such  prominent  continental 
artists  as  Kay  Nielsen,  Th.  Th.  Heine,  Franz 
von  Bayros,  Alastair,  the  astoundingly  clever 
Marcus  Behmer,  and  any  number  of  lesser  men. 

The  fact  that  his  work  retains  its  stimulus  for 
a  new  artistic  generation  was  the  excuse  for  his 
first  comprehensive  exhibit  on  in  America,  ar- 
ranged in  1911,  when  Beardsley  had  ceased  to  be 
a  fashionable  craze  or  a  topic  for  frivolous  con- 
versation. He  was  not  an  artist  whom  one  could 
lightly  denounce  or  indiscriminately  praise,  but 
an  acknowledged  master  of  satire  and  decorative 
line,  who  taught  graphic  artists  many  new  and 
important  lessons,  and  practically  exhausted  the 
resources  of  his  medium.  He  was  an  artists' 
artist,  and,  as  Mr.  Pennell  wrote,  "What  more 
could  he  wish?"  Certain  features  of  his  work 
may  be  condemned  or  deplored,  but  he  certainly 
cannot  be  ignored  by  any  serious  student,  and  we 
in  America  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  men 
and  women  who  made  it  possible  to  give  this 
exhibition,  and  to  William  Rothenstein  who 
brought  the  greater  part  of  the  collection  from 
England. 


Cull 


CHARLES  CONDER 

|HARLES  CONDER,  one  of  Eng- 
land's rarest  exotic  types,  was  born 
in  London  in  May,  1868.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  that  his  father, 
James  Conder,  a  civil  engineer,  was 
a  descendant  of  the  sculptor  Rou- 
biliac.  Conder's  early  years  were  spent  in  India 
and  Australia,  and  it  will  always  be  difficult  to 
understand  how  his  tastes  and  sense  of  color  could 
have  been  nurtured  by,  or  have  survived,  a  train- 
ing for  the  Government  Survey  Department.  His 
purely  artistic  activity  was  very  brief,  for  it  wras 
not  until  1890,  when  he  went  to  Paris,  that  he 
determined  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  painting. 
There,  shortly  after  beginning  his  studies,  he  met 
William  Rothenstein,  and  they  shared  a  studio 
in  the  rue  Ravignan,  went  to  Julian's,  and  eventu- 
ally exhibited  together.  As  an  Associate  of  the 
Societe  Nationale  des  Beaux  Arts,  Conder  soon 
established  a  high  reputation  among  a  limited 
circle  of  connoisseurs,  and  his  work  was  bought 
by  the  Musee  du  Luxembourg.  After  his  death, 
the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  the  Melbourne 
National  Gallery  and  the  British  Museum  pur- 


chased  his  pictures.  When  Conder  went  back  to 
England  he  became  connected  with  the  group 
of  young  men  who  contributed  to  "The  Yellow 
Book,"  "The  Pageant,"  "The  Savoy,"  "The 
Venture,"  and  other  short-lived  magazines.  He 
exhibited  with  the  New  English  Art  Club  and 
later  with  the  International  Society  until  his 
death  on  February  9,  1909,  after  a  painful,  lin- 
gering illness  from  which  he  had  been  suffering 
for  many  years. 

The  date  of  his  death  will  come  as  a  surprise 
to  many,  for  Conder,  especially  in  America, 
where  his  pictures  are  rarely  seen,  is  already  a 
kind  of  choice  tradition.  The  mingled  spirit  of 
happy,  careless  indolence  and  gentle  melan- 
choly, \vhich  pervades  his  beautiful  works,  is  a 
reflection  of  the  career  of  the  man.  In  his  healthy 
periods,  he  seems  to  have  been  a  delightful  host, 
a  perfect  friend,  a  charming,  nonchalant  bohem- 
ian,  who  should  have  lived  in  splendor  in  the 
golden  age  of  Venice.  His  little  ivy-covered 
house  at  91  Cheyne  Walk  had  been  the  home  of 
the  Adams  brothers,  famous  decorators  of  whose 
occupancy  many  traces  remained,  and  it  was  filled 
by  Conder  with  objets  d'art,  bibelots,  and  rare 
meubles,  all  possessing  unique  association  interest. 
They  lent  a  pathetic  atmosphere  to  the  house 
on  Elizabeth  Street  which  was  occupied  by  his 
widow  until  her  tragic  death  in  1912.  The  at- 
tractive young  couple  had  attempted  to  convert 
Chelsea  into  a  gay  Parisian  Montmartre,  and  their 
residence  became  the  scene  of  brilliant  masquer- 


SILK     FANS 
B\-  Cbarli'x  Conder 


ades  and  fetes  champetres  at  which  all  the  young 
artists,  litterateurs,  and  musicians  of  London 
were  gathered  together.  None  of  the  partici- 
pants will  ever  forget  Conder's  presentation  of 
Beardsley's  "Rape  of  the  Lock,"  or  another  fes- 
tival which  was  like  a  transcription  from  eighteenth- 
century  life.  Fortunately,  Jacques  Blanche,  the 
French  painter,  who  seems  to  be  as  skilful  with 
his  pen  as  with  his  brush,  was  often  among  those 
present,  and  he  has  written  an  intimate  appre- 
ciation 1  of  the  life  and  work  of  his  dead  friend, 
which  is  like  a  prose  threnody. 

Unlike  Beardsley,  who  worked  for  the  most 
part  in  only  one  medium,  Conder  experimented 
with  almost  everything:  oil-paintings,  pastels, 
sanguines,  water-colors,  pen-and-ink  drawings, 
etchings,  and  lithographs.  He  made  illustrations 
for  fairy-tales  and  for  books  by  Balzac,  Gautier, 
and  Ernest  Dowson,  decorated  entire  suites  of 
rooms  for  Mrs.  Halford  and  Edmund  Davis, 
and  painted  a  considerable  number  of  silk  fans, 
many  of  which  are  masterpieces.  Only  on  rare 
occasions,  however,  did  Conder  push  his  work 
to  actual  completion,  for  he  did  not  possess  the 
infinite  patience  of  many  lesser  men.  He  was 
always  planning  new  compositions,  and  intensely 
eager  to  project  the  refreshing,  spontaneous, 
intangible  beauty  of  his  first  inspirations  into  his 
pictures.  Wherever  he  went,  he  carried  bolts  of 
fine  silk  on  which  he  was  ever  ready  to  experiment 
and  note  some  fleeting  variation  of  light.  Madame 
1  "Verse  et  Prose."  Tome  XVIII.  Juillet,  1909. 


Baudy,  whom  many  artists  will  recall  as  the 
mistress  of  the  old  country  inn  at  Giverny,  is  the 
proud  possessor  of  one  of  these  choice  improvi- 
sations, a  gift  from  the  grateful  young  painter 
into  whose  work  no  base  or  mercenary  thought, 
no  feeling  of  constraint  or  compulsion  ever  entered. 
He  was  never  banal  or  pedantic.  The  slightest 
drawings  are  always  informed  by  beautiful  ideas, 
and  convince  you  that  the  artist  enjoyed 
making  them.  Often,  we  are  told,  he  would 
rush  from  his  dining-room  to  the  upper  story 
where  he  painted,  leaving  his  food,  his  brilliant 
friends,  and  their  witty  anecdotes  to  put  some 
touches  to  a  new  design.  It  is  to  be  expected 
that  work  produced  in  such  a  way  is  very  uneven, 
but  the  best  of  it  possesses  such  rare  merits  that 
one  is  carried  away  by  an  enthusiasm  aroused 
by  very  few  of  his  contemporaries. 

Conder's  paintings  are  like  lyrical  poems  or 
inspired  melodies.  He  never  suffered  from  the 
modern  disease  of  realism,  and  the  creatures  of 
his  delicate  fancy  move  about  in  an  engaging 
world  of  heroic  landscapes  and  enchanted  gar- 
dens. The  pictures  are  arabesques  of  sumptuous 
imaginary  women  basking  in  their  own  glorious 
beauty.  Nymphs  throw  back  their  heads  in 
ecstasy  and  recline  in  cool  dew-drenched  arbors 
of  silvery  green  foliage,  or  wander  thinly  clad  on 
the  shore  of  a  serene  sapphire  sea.  Through  a 
golden  haze  they  are  seen  flaunting  themselves  and 
laughing  roguishly  in  Elysian  groves.  Sitting 
among  ruined  columns  under  azure  skies,  they 


listen  to  playing  fountains  or  to  the  seductive 
strains  of  music  wafted  by  perfumed  breezes. 
Vain  sultanas  are  starting  on  adventures  which 
will  end  in  tumultuous  passionate  scenes.  While 
bluebirds  fly  above  their  heads,  sweet  shepherd- 
esses and  Grub  Street  aesthetes  dance  to  gentle 
measures  struck  by  unseen  musicians  in  eighteenth- 
century  ball-rooms,  gay  with  festoons  and  ribbons. 
Spanish  beauties  watch  their  toreadors  go  care- 
lessly to  their  doom.  English  Columbines  in 
patches  and  powder  prepare  for  the  Mardi  gras, 
while  gallant  Harlequins  throw  them  into  deli- 
cious frenzies  by  whispering  piquant  stories  into 
their  pretty  ears.  Occasionally  they  amuse  them- 
selves and  discuss  life's  adornments  under  the 
gaslight  of  a  Parisian  cafe.  Imperious,  petulant, 
radiant,  or  disdainful,  their  beauty  is  always  irre- 
sistible, stirs  the  emotions  and  transports  you 
into  a  land  of  dreams.  Whenever  he  attempted 
reality,  as  in  his  portrait  of  Max  Beerbohm,  he  was 
not  altogether  successful. 

Conder  persistently  styled  himself  "L'eleve 
d'Anquetin,"  but  his  poetical  fancy  was  a  gift  of 
the  gods,  and  was  never  acquired  by  associating 
with  an  artist  who  was  one  of  the  mild  sensations 
of  his  day.  He  owed  far  more  to  the  eighteenth- 
century  Frenchmen,  and  his  fantasies  immedi- 
ately suggest  a  comparison  with  Watteau.  But 
here  again  the  likeness  is  more  apparent  than 
real,  for  there  exists  a  certain  affinity  between  all 
painters  of  moods  and  caprices:  Tiepolo,  Monti- 
celli,  Fantin-Latour,  Gaston  La  Touche,  and 


Whistler.  The  last-mentioned  was  one  of  Gen- 
der's household  gods,  and  a  characteristic  story 
is  told  of  one  of  their  meetings.  Seeing  him  on 
the  Boulevard  one  afternoon,  Conder  caught 
up  with  Whistler  and  bowed,  but  received  only  a 
blank  stare  in  return.  "I  am  afraid  you  don't 
remember  me,  Mr.  Whistler,"  the  young  man 
remarked  modestly,  "my  name  is  Conder." 
"Conder?"  the  butterfly  whispered,  apparently 
to  himself,  "Conder?"  .  .  .  Then  loudly,  "Oh 
yes!  Of  course!  Conder!  —  Good-bye,  Conder!" 
and  strolled  negligently  awray.  The  eccentric 
American,  however,  remained  a  very  real  influence 
even  after  this  insult. 

A  more  subtle  resemblance  can  be  traced  be- 
tween Conder  and  the  great  Spaniard  Goya. 
This  is  especially  striking  when  we  study  Con- 
der's  extraordinary  lithographs,  which  are  the 
delight  of  discerning  collectors,  like  John  Quinn. 
The  Englishman  was  never  brutal,  profound,  over- 
powering or  grotesque,  and  the  two  men  are  not 
of  the  same  stature,  but  they  worked  with  the 
same  noble  fury  and  invested  everything  they 
did,  however  trifling,  with  a  romantic  allure. 
Their  women  have  the  same  tragic  shadows,  the 
same  kind  of  vitality,  nervous  impetuosity  and 
glow,  and  often  there  are  similarities  of  composi- 
tion and  curious  deficiencies  in  drawing.  Con- 
der has,  however,  one  gift  which  distinguishes 
him  from  all  other  painters.  His  palette  was 
composed  of  the  most  delicate  colors  imaginable. 
Such  transitions  of  tender  rose  and  vaporous  blue, 


DECORATIVE    PANEL    ox    SILK 

By  Charles  Conder 
Collection  oj  A/r*.  I-'rancis  P.  Garrun 


and  passages  of  yellow,  lilac,  and  green  are  only 
to  be  met  with  in  a  collection  of  gems.  In  spite 
of  his  extreme  delicacy,  however,  he  is  time  after 
time  successful  in  interpreting  the  varying  atmos- 
pheric effects  of  twilight  and  evening.  The  eva- 
nescent gradations  of  color  flush  the  delicate 
white  silk  like  the  gleam  on  moving  tropical  waters, 
or  Nature's  iridescent  painting  on  the  wings  of 
morphos,  or  the  scales  of  paradise  fish,  and  as  long 
as  his  silk  fans  endure,  Conder's  fame  will  surely 
last.  That  is  the  only  excuse  for  putting  them 
in  frames  under  glass,  for  their  proper  destination 
is  clearly  the  hand  of  some  fair  lady  promenading 
in  the  formal  gardens  of  Versailles.  Only  then 
would  their  great  beauty  and  value  become  fully 
manifest,  although,  even  on  a  wall,  their  charm  is 
most  insinuating. 

Other  modern  painters  of  the  first  order  have 
turned  to  decoration  as  a  means  of  expression. 
Degas,  Gauguin,  Manet  and  Toulouse-Lautrec, — 
of  whom  Conder  saw  a  great  deal,  —  occasionally 
ornamented  fans,  Monet  decorated  panels,  and 
Renoir  enriched  porcelains.  These  things,  how- 
ever, were  mere  relaxations  and  amusements  for 
the  men  just  mentioned.  The  painting  of  a  fan, 
for  Conder,  was  the  most  serious  business  of  his 
life,  and  his  name  is  inseparable  from  his  perish- 
able specialty.  Every  indication  of  tightness, 
from  which  his  oils  sometimes  suffer,  is  absent 
from  these  fans.  A  certain  reverberation  of  won- 
drous flowing  limpid  color  results  from  his  regard 
for  the  delicate  sheen  and  texture  of  the  material, 


and  the  subjects  exhale  the  beauty  and  enchant- 
ing melody  of  Verlaine.  The  compositions  fol- 
low most  skilfully  the  shape  of  the  fans,  along 
the  edges  of  which,  on  balustrades  and  balconies, 
the  women  are  grouped  in  profusion.  Usually 
there  are  medallions  in  grisaille,  tangled  French 
garlands,  and  decorative  drifting  spangles,  which, 
it  may  be  noted,  were  borrowed  by  his  friend 
Beardsley,  and  frequently  employed  by  the  latter 
in  an  infinite  number  of  original  ways. 

Conder  also  painted  panels,  curtains,  bed-cov- 
erings, and  even  costumes.  Bing,  the  well- 
known  dealer  and  enthusiastic  japonisant,  when 
he  founded  his  maison  de  I' Art  Nouveau,  com- 
missioned him  to  decorate  a  beautiful  boudoir  in 
white  silk,  which  fortunate  visitors  who  climbed 
to  the  upper  stories  and  passed  through  the  Denis 
bedroom,  may  still  remember.  The  hanging  panels 
of  this  room,  which  have  found  their  way  to  Amer- 
ica have  been  happily  described  by  Jacques 
Blanche  as  "  capricieuses  aquarelles,  bordecs  de 
franges  de  perles  blanches,  d'un  exquis  raffmement 
de  composition  et  de  couleur,  ingenieuse  trans- 
position dans  une  langue  moderne,  des  bergeries, 
des  gallants  decamerons  poudres  du  dix-huitieme 
siecle."  Fritz  Thaulow,  who  owned  them  at  one 
time,  was  one  of  the  many  other  artists  asked  to 
do  something  original  for  Bing's  remarkable  es- 
tablishment and  in  that  way  there  sprang  up  an 
acquaintanceship  between  the  two  men  which 
soon  developed  into  friendship.  To  Conder  this 
proved  to  be  a  great  blessing,  for  when  the  poor 

n  22] 


fellow's  mind  began  to  drift,  and  he  was  slowly 
going  to  pieces,  he  found  a  haven  of  refuge  in  the 
home  of  the  genial  northerner  at  Dieppe.  There 
he  would  often  meet  the  unfortunate  Wilde 
after  the  latter's  downfall,  and  Conder  would  sit 
around  the  fireside  with  the  Thaulow  family  listen- 
ing attentively,  while  the  poet  told  his  exquisite 
prose  fancies  to  the  admiring,  fascinated  children. 
Occasionally  the  crumbling  artist  would  also 
improvise  on  silk  for  his  kind  hostess,  and  these 
gems  still  adorn  Mme.  Thaulow's  home  in  Chris- 
tiania.  To  the  very  end  of  his  maimed  life  he 
had  many  projects  and  lovely  visions,  which  were 
tinged  with  the  weariness  and  resignation  which 
we  see  in  the  fine  portraits  of  him  by  Baron  de 
Meyer,  whose  wife  so  often  posed  for  Conder's 
figures.  His  last  works,  showing  many  signs  of 
failing  power,  will  in  no  way  affect  the  security 
of  his  niche  in  the  temple  of  enduring  Beauty. 
Today  he  is  a  maitre  precieux,  known  only  to  those 
interested  in  the  by-ways  of  art,  but  the  time 
will  surely  come  when  his  works  will  be  redis- 
covered to  usher  in  a  new  artistic  golden  era.  In 
the  meanwhile,  he  lies  buried  in  a  grave  like 
Omar's,  near  which  the  nightingale  loves  to  sing 
and  fading  roses  drop  their  fragrant  petals. 


RICKETTS  AND  SHANNON 


HEN  Roger  Fry  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  Herr  Meier-Graefe  and 
hailed  the  new  Post-impressionist 
masters,  almost  all  London  blindly 
succumbed.  Eager  crowds  rushed 
to  see  the  latest  amusing  sensa- 
tion at  the  Grafton  Galleries,  critics  hid  their 
cudgels  and  chanted  hymns  of  praise,  and  the 
puzzled  unwilling  dealers  finally  opened  their  doors 
to  the  distorted  masterpieces.  Almost  the  only 
oasis  in  the  town  w7as  the  famous  studio  of  Charles 
Ricketts  and  Charles  Shannon,  on  Lansdownc 
Road,  where  you  could  leave  the  turmoil  behind 
and  find  the  steady  sacred  flame  of  beauty  quietly 
burning.  Fine  examples  of  Egyptian  art,  jewels 
of  the  ancient  Persian  miniaturists,  antique  mar- 
bles, bronzes  by  Rodin  and  Legros,  charming  Tana- 
gras,  drawings  by  Baryc,  Daumicr,  and  the 
Chinese  masters,  the  harmonious  works  of  Puvis 
de  Chavannes,  the  graceful  designs  of  Outamaro 
and  Watteau,  were  among  the  treasures  which 
were  there  collected  together  by  the  two  artists, 
and  no  higher  praise  of  their  own  original  works 





Tin-:   AKTIST 
Lithograph  l>\'  (.buries  H.  Shannon 


Till-.     I.ADV     IN     Bl.ACK     Fll< 

Oil  Painting  liy  ('buries  Shannon 
The  National  Gallery  of  Canada 


is  needed  than  to  state  that  they  hold  their  own 
in  such  company.  It  is  indeed  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance that  the  rare  culture  of  these  two  en- 
thusiasts has  not  been  sterile,  and  has  expressed 
itself  in  paintings,  bronzes,  and  graphic  works  of 
charm,  sensitiveness,  and  exquisite  beauty.  Rick- 
etts,  like  Fromentin,  has  also  mastered  the  art  of 
expression  in  words,  and  has  written  some  of  the 
sanest  essays  on  Art  in  contemporary  literature. 

As  far  back  as  1884,  the  two  artists  met  in  a 
school  at  Lambeth,  where  they  were  learning 
to  engrave  on  wood,  and  they  have  been  insepa- 
rable ever  since.  As  their  friend  Mr.  Lewis 
Hind  puts  it:  "They  live  together;  they  collect 
together;  they  work  in  adjoining  studios,  and  in 
any  account  of  the  life,  aims,  and  appreciations 
of  Mr.  Shannon,  the  name  of  Mr.  Ricketts  runs 
to  the  tongue  as  dutifully  as  that  of  Sullivan  to 
Gilbert,  or  Fletcher  to  Beaumont."  It  is  surpris- 
ing, therefore,  to  find  that  the  influence  of  one 
upon  the  creations  of  the  other  is  almost  imper- 
ceptible. As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  worked  to- 
gether only  at  the  beginning  of  their  careers, 
when  they  were  still  actively  engaged  in  producing 
graphic  wrorks  for  the  sumptuous  quarto  "The 
Dial,"  and  later  for  the  publications  of  the  Vale 
Press. 

The  first  number  of  their  protest  against  com- 
mercialism appeared  in  1889,  and  was  followed  at 
intervals  by  four  other  parts.  The  versatility  of 
Ricketts  turned  quite  naturally  to  the  realm  of 
applied  art,  and  with  William  Morris  he  became 


one  of  the  leaders  in  the  revival  of  good  printing.1 
The  production  of  "The  Dial"  culminated  in  the 
establishment  of  the  Vale  Press,  and  its  publica- 
tions were  immediately  recognized  as  superior 
in  many  ways  to  those  of  the  Kelmscott.  Morris 
was  inspired  by  the  mediaeval  printers.  Ricketts 
followed  in  the  footsteps  of  the  Italians,  and  in 
"Daphnis  and  Chloe"  he  was  responsible  not  alone 
for  the  woodcuts,  but  also  for  the  arrangement  of 
the  page  and  every  other  feature.  The  engravings 
for  this  book  and  its  successor,  "Hero  and  Lean- 
der,"  were  designed  and  engraved  on  wood  by  both 
artists,  and  now  they  are  no  longer  quite  sure  which 
of  them  made  some  of  the  designs.  Harmony  and  a 
uniform  style  rather  than  originality  was  sought 
for  in  these  first  experiments,  and  the  famous  Aldine 
"Hypnerotomachia"  (1499)  was  drawn  upon  for 
many  of  the  details.  Very  often  they  employed  the 
happy  conceit  of  putting  their  own  portraits  into 
the  illustrations,  but  not  infrequently  the  designs 
are  almost  like  tracings  from  the  fifteenth-century 
book.  The  Vale  type  was  first  used  for  "The  Early 
Poems  of  John  Milton,"  and  in  it  the  remarkable 
inventive  skill  of  Ricketts  and  his  fastidious 
taste  are  crystallized.  In  all,  the  press  issued 
some  fifty  books,  which  are  contributions  of  last- 
ing worth  to  the  spirit  of  our  time,  and  after  1903 
when  its  doors  were  closed,  Ricketts  devoted  him- 
self to  painting  and  sculpture.  In  these  later 

1  A  good  concise  history  of  the  entire  movement  is  given 
by  Holbrook  Jackson  in  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  his  book 
"The  Eighteen  Nineties"  (1013). 

C26] 


DON    Ji'AX 

Paintins  by  Charles  Ricketts 
Collection  oj  John  /•'.  Kraushaar,  Esq. 


POSTKK  i  OK  "TiiE   DYXASTS" 
Litb(>gra])b  hy  ('buries  Ruketts 


works  Ricketts  strikes  a  distinct  personal  note, 
although  he  displays  affinities  with  the  Pre- 
raphaelites  and  Delacroix  on  the  one  hand,  and 
with  Rodin,  the  late  president  of  the  International, 
on  the  other. 

The  Preraphaelite  influence  is  also  noticeable 
in  the  paintings  of  Shannon,  but  he  is  really  a 
direct  descendant  of  Watts  and  the  Venetians  of 
the  Golden  Age.  Rich  in  ideas,  you  will  find  him 
making  innumerable  studies  in  various  experi- 
mental media  before  he  finally  gives  his  subject 
a  place  on  the  canvas.  Alost  of  the  subjects  are 
found  suggested  among  his  lithographs.  Indeed, 
it  is  by  these  studies  that  he  is  best  known  here.1 
He  is  an  acknowledged  master  of  the  medium, 
and  has  exhausted  all  its  possibilities  except  in  the 
field  of  color-printing.  He  will  probably  never 
employ  color,  however,  for  he  can  make  sunlight 
play  among  the  green  trees,  or  catch  the  gleam 
of  foam  on  the  sea,  by  the  use  of  line  and  scratching. 

Shannon  is  devoted  to  the  tondo,  and  he 
arranges  his  figures  in  a  circle  with  the  same  un- 
erring skill  that  Conder  displayed  in  decorating 
a  fan.  Not  the  least  charming  of  his  works  is 
a  series  of  poetical  circular  woodcuts  rhythmi- 
cally well  balanced,  printed  in  two  colors  after 
the  manner  of  Ugo  da  Carpi  and  the  eighteenth- 
century  prints  of  Skippe  and  Zannetti.  Many 
of  his  lithographs  also  are  circular  or  fan-shaped, 
and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  record  that  the  admirable 

1  As  a  portrait  painter  Americans  still  confuse  him  with 
Mr.  J.  J.  Shannon. 


catalogue  which  Ricketts  made  of  these  prints 
in  1898  did  not  mean  the  end  of  his  activities  in 
the  medium.  Ricketts  himself  occasionally  makes 
lithographs  and  his  poster  for  Thomas  Hardy's 
Dynasts  is  a  distinguished  achievement. 

Shannon's  works  resemble  those  of  his  friend 
only  in  the  fact  that  the  impulses  which  created 
them,  whether  inspired  by  the  Bible  or  by  some 
strange  fable,  seem  purely  artistic  rather  than 
religious  or  emotional.  As  artists  they  are  not 
popular,  perhaps  because  they  are  not  boldly 
assertive.  It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  assume 
that  their  art  is  a  mere  reflection,  because  they 
talk  so  sympathetically  and  learnedly  of  the  great 
men  whose  works  they  collect.  Their  noble 
aspirations  and  quiet  devotion  to  their  work  are 
in  themselves  tremendously  valuable  as  protests, 
at  a  time  when  delicate  taste  and  feeling  are  con- 
spicuously absent  from  the  work  of  so  many  im- 
patient young  men. 


LEON  BAKST 


HE  city  of  Paris,  which  calls  him 
"notre  incomparable,"  shares  the 
honor  of  having   discovered   Leon 
Bakst   with   Serge   de   Diaghilew, 
the   enterprising    director    of   the 
Russian  ballet.    Petrograd,  the  ar- 
tist's birthplace,  treated  him  rather  harshly,  al- 
though it  had  not  denied  him  a  certain  measure 
of  success,  so  long  as  he  consented  to  work  in  the 
fashionable   manner  and  devote   himself  to  por- 
traiture and  the  commonplace  fields  of  art.     His 
portraits,  however,  are  not  conventional  achieve- 
ments, if  we  may  judge  by  the  sensitive  likenesses 
of  the  poets  Andrej  Bely  and  Jean  Cocteau  or 
the  crisp  character  sketch  of  the  composer  Bala- 
kirew,  and  it  is  interesting  to  learn  that  he  is  at 
present  engaged  in  making  pastels  of  the  fashion- 
able world  of   a  ville  lumiere.     Bakst's  historical 
paintings  also  show  distinct  originality,  although 
they    reveal    the     influence    of     Kaulbach    and 
Cornelius.     These  works  won  commercial  recog- 
nition f  r  the  artist,  but  they  did  not  satisfy  his 
restless  nature,  and  he  went  to  Paris  in  search  of 
freedom.     His  first  visit  to  the  city  of  his  adop- 
tion took  place  in  1895  when  Bakst  was  twenty- 


seven  years  old,  and  there  he  worked  for  three  years 
under  the  versatile  Finnish  artist  Albert  Edelfeldt. 
The  Russian  Government  was  at  that  time  still 
rejoicing  over  the  French  alliance,  and  Bakst  was 
commissioned  to  paint  a  canvas  commemorating 
the  ovation  given  to  Admiral  Avelan  of  the  Rus- 
sian fleet  when  he  visited  France.  This  painting, 
which  now  hangs  in  the  Museum  at  Petrograd, 
is  a  notable  work,  but  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  he 
is  not  represented  by  his  masterpiece  in  oil,  the 
Terror  Antiquus,  which  won  the  gold  medal  at 
the  International  Exposition  at  Brussels,  in  1910. 
Long  before  it  was  painted,  Bakst  with  his  friends 
Constantin  Somow,  Alexandre  Benois,  and  the 
late  Valentin  Scrow,  were  known  as  progressive 
propagandists,  and  they  started  the  stimulating 
magazine  "Mir  Iskusstwa"  ("The  World  of  Art"). 
Bakst  sought  further  relief  from  uncongenial 
activities  by  making  exquisite  black-and-white 
rococo  book  decorations,  which  show  that  Pie  was 
acquainted  with  the  works  of  Aubrey  Beardsley. 
Interior  decorations  in  a  style  resembling  Em- 
pire, miniature  paintings,  lithographs,  strange 
caricatures,  mural  designs  like  the  delicately 
beautiful  "Swallows  and  Mimosa,"  and  pretty 
theatrical  figurines  were  other  relaxations.  The 
Russian  capital,  however,  would  not  tolerate  any 
very  daring  innovations,  and  Bakst  was  severely 
condemned  by  the  Academy  when  he  sent  in  a 
realistic  painting  of  an  old  woman  holding  the 
mutilated  remains  of  her  son  in  her  arms,  rep- 
resenting the  Virgin  Mary  weeping  over  the  body 

C30  3 


of  Christ.  The  attack  upon  him  led  to  open  hos- 
tility. Realizing  that  he  could  never  hope  to 
succeed  while  continually  up  in  arms  against  offi- 
cialdom, he  finally  left  Petrograd  and  he  now 
resides  in  a  well-appointed  studio  on  the  Boule- 
vard Malesherbes. 

It  was  not  until  1906,  at  the  admirable  Russian 
exhibition  which  was  then  arranged  in  Paris  by 
Diaghilew,  that  Bakst  and  other  talented  men  won 
more  general  recognition.  The  distinguished  re- 
gisseur  urged  a  group  of  the  exhibiting  artists  to 
work  for  the  Russian  Imperial  theatres,  and 
Bakst,  who  is  a  devoted  student  of  Homer,  was 
asked  to  make  designs  for  classical  plays  with 
Greek  settings,  like  the  "CEdipus."  His  original- 
ity, however,  again  aroused  old  enemies  at  home, 
and  their  mutterings  were  not  hushed  until  Paris  set 
the  seal  of  her  approval  on  the  brilliant  innovator. 

It  was  our  privilege  to  be  present  when  Bakst 
obtained  his  real  introduction  at  the  Theatre  du 
Chatelet  in  June,  1909.  From  the  moment  when 
the  curtain  arose  to  the  music  which  Arensky 
had  written  for  the  artist's  ballet  "Cleopatre," 
until  the  amorous  queen's  galley  glided  down  the 
river  with  its  precious  burden,  there  was  never  a 
false  note  struck.  The  settings  were  built  upon 
extremely  simple  lines,  —  a  vast  Egyptian  hall 
surrounded  by  massive  columns  between  which 
you  caught  glimpses  of  the  glistening  sapphire 
Nile.  The  prevailing  color  was  a  brilliant  orange, 
and  the  great  stones,  which  seemed  to  have 
absorbed  the  golden  sunlight,  suggested  deserts 

CsO 


of  glittering  powdered  sand  outside.  It  was 
what  one  might  expect  from  the  artist  who  after- 
wards told  us  that  he  conceived  a  stage  setting 
primarily  not  as  a  landscape  or  as  architecture, 
but  as  though  it  were  a  painting  into  which  the 
human  figures  had  not  yet  been  painted.  "From 
each  setting,"  he  continued,  "I  discard  the  entire 
range  of  nuances  which  do  not  amplify  or  inten- 
sify the  hidden  spirit  of  the  fable."  Add  to  this 
the  fact  that  the  composer,  the  maitre  de  ballet, 
the  stage  decorator,  the  dancers  and  mimes,  were 
all  of  the  same  race  working  in  harmony,  and  you 
will  not  be  surprised  at  the  artistic  unity  of  the 
production.  The  composers  orchestrated  for  the 
ears,  Bakst  for  the  eyes.  The  inimitable  inter- 
preters were  Pavlowa,  dainty  and  divine,  the 
charming  Karsavina,  the  incomparable  Nijinsky, 
their  admirable  dancing-master  Fokine,  who  has 
done  so  much  for  the  Russian  ballet,  and  the 
strange  Mme.  Rubinstein,  whose  mysterious  beauty 
dominated  the  drama.  As  the  story  unfolded, 
we  saw  groups  of  sleek  Syrians  in  silver,  gaudy 
Jewesses  with  headdresses  of  pearls  and  rubies, 
svelte  Egyptian  dancers  in  golden  tissues,  Diony- 
sian  priestesses,  corybantes  and  black  serviteurs, 
whose  extraordinary  costumes  were  always  in 
keeping  with  their  respective  characters.  It  was 
a  vision  of  the  scene  in  Gautier's  story,  so  sat- 
isfying and  enchanting  that  the  great  audience 
held  its  breath.  Bakst's  fame  was  assured,  al- 
though he  had  only  just  begun  to  disclose  the 
unsuspected  sides  of  his  inventive  genius.  The 

C  31! 


COSTLMF.    FOR    A    DANCER    IX    "LE    DlEf    BLEU" 

Water  Color  Drau'ing  bv  Leon  Bakst 


productions  which  followed  in  the  French  capital 
and  in  London  were  a  succession  of  surprises  and 
triumphs,  and  it  became  difficult  to  remain  a  col- 
lected observer  or  critic  before  these  dazzling  crea- 
tions, which  aroused  feverish  emotions  and  over- 
came the  senses  like  a  flask  of  attar  of  roses. 

It  was  our  Isadora  Duncan  who  first  introduced 
the  Russians  to  the  possibilities  of  the  poetry  of 
motion.  Before  her  time  many  remarkable  dan- 
cers had  been  pirouetting  and  wasting  their  mag- 
nificent technical  equipment  on  the  demode  ballet 
form  which  in  other  countries  had  long  since  made 
way  for  a  freer  art  of  dancing.  In  Russia  the  art 
had  always  been  under  royal  patronage  and  the 
origin  of  this  school  may  be  traced  back  to  Peter 
the  Great,  who  was  a  passionate  lover  of  the 
dance.  It  was  his  interest  and  influence  that 
paved  the  way  for  its  renaissance  under  Didelot 
several  centuries  later,  and  its  further  develop- 
ment under  Marius  Petipa,  the  first  eminent 
native  director.  In  1802  Didelot  became  the  head 
of  the  royal  Petrograd  school,  and  he  inspired  that 
institution  with  his  own  high  serious  ideals.  He 
advocated  a  severe  and  arduous  form  of  training 
from  early  childhood,  as  the  only  foundation  for 
supreme  excellence,  and  his  ideas  are  still  held  in 
reverence.  Future  stars  are  admitted  at  the  age 
of  eight  or  nine,  and  henceforth  the  state  is  re- 
sponsible for  their  general  education  as  well  as 
for  their  ballet  training.  From  four  to  five  hours 
are  devoted  daily  to  such  exercises  as  will  develop 
a  perfect  control  of  all  the  limbs,  and  this  study 

[333 


never  ceases  even  when  the  dancers  attain  leading 
rank.  The  famous  graduates  from  this  ballet 
school  already  mentioned,  and  a  unique  company 
of  gifted  Russian  composers  and  scenic  artists, 
were  the  material  from  which  the  master  mind 
of  M.  Serge  dc  Diaghilew  wove  the  alluring  art 
form  known  as  the  modern  Russian  Ballet.  It  was 
for  this  original  director  that  Bakst  extracted  the 
poetry  hidden  in  every  epoch  and  showed  that  he 
possessed  in  an  amazing  degree  the  Greek  eurpaTreXia 
-what  Matthew  Arnold  called  "happy  ilcxi- 
bility"  -the  power  to  properly  adapt  his  varied 
talents  to  any  subject  in  hand. 

In  "Cleopatre"  and  "Salome"  he  wras,  of  course, 
Egyptian.  In  "Narcisse,"  "Daphnis  and  Chloe," 
"L'Apres-Midi  d'un  Faune,"  and  Verhaeren's 
"Helene  de  Sparte,"  we  saw  his  Greek  inventions, 
and  his  designs  crystallized  forever  our  happy 
memories  of  delicate  archaic  maidens  in  light 
draperies  with  golden  ornaments  in  their  hair,  of 
dancing  Satyrs,  and  above  all,  of  Nijinsky  as 
Horace's  perplexed  Faun,  "nympharum  fugicn- 
tum  amator,"  bounding  into  the  air  by  some 
magic  power  and  slowly  descending  to  touch  the 
earth  and  start  on  still  higher  flights.  Bakst's 
sparkling  drawings  of  him  are  not  copies  from 
antique  vases,  statuary,  or  bas-reliefs  in  the  sense 
that  Thorwaldsen's  or  Canova's  works  are.  In- 
stead of  making  weak  imitations  or  classically 
correct  drawings,  Bakst  first  assimilates  and  then 
transforms  everything  he  touches.  We  derive 
greater  pleasure  from  his  works  than  from  any 

[343 


Greek  restorations,  because  he  has  absorbed  the 
essentials  of  the  ancient  style  and  has  breathed 
the  breath  of  intense  life  into  them.  In  "Le 
Dieu  Bleu"  he  treated  Anamese  and  Javanese 
styles  after  the  same  fashion,  his  prodigious  exotic 
imagination  calling  to  mind  the  art  of  Gustave 
Moreau  and  Odilon  Redon.  These  drawings  have 
the  glamour  of  the  Indies  but  retain  the  stamp 
and  style  of  Leon  Bakst.  The  detail  is  amazingly 
intricate,  but  he  has  learned  the  secret  of  subordi- 
nating it  to  the  main  lines  of  his  design,  just  as  an 
Eastern  artist  would  have  done.  "Thamar"  is 
hybrid,  showing  Trans-Caucasian  and  Chinese 
origins.  Then  there  are  a  series  of  ballets  -  "  Les 
Papillons"  and  "Le  Carnaval,"  among  others 
-  where  sauterie  plays  an  important  role.  For 
these  the  costumes  do  not  differ  so  radically  from 
what  any  other  clever  decorator  might  have  de- 
signed. Among  operas  we  have  the  brilliant 
rococo  setting  for  Wolf- Ferrari's  "The  Secret  of 
Suzanne"  and  superb  national  costumes  and 
scenery  for  "Boris  Godounow,"  in  which  the 
Byzantine  note  predominates.  The  mediaeval 
period  furnished  inspiration  for  D'Annunzio's 
"Pisanelle"  and  the  same  poet's  "St.  Sebas- 
tien,"  from  which  we  carried  away  a  vivid  mental 
picture  of  the  martyred  saint  impersonated  by  the 
morbidly  graceful  Mme.  Rubinstein,  who  made 
the  sophisticated  Paris  audience  exclaim,  "Mais, 
elle  va  mourir!"  Quite  recently  Bakst  startled 
his  admirers  with  the  athletic  ballet  "Les  Jeux," 
and  the  extravagant  costumes  for  the  "Legende 

C353 


de  Joseph"  of  Richard  Strauss,  and  then  delighted 
them  by  making  a  number  of  fantasies  on  modern 
costumes  which  were  quickly  seized  upon  by 
purveyors  to  women  of  fashion  who  made  his 
color  harmonies  the  latest  cry.  In  his  most 
recent  work,  the  costumes  for  Stravinsky's  amus- 
ing "L'Oiseau  de  Feu,"  his  genius  again  revealed 
itself  as  it  did  in  the  ballet  "Scheherazade,"  still 
regarded  as  his  masterpiece  and  most  characteristic 
wrork. 

In  this  magnificent  prelude  to  the  Arabian 
Nights,  Bakst  was  his  amazing  oriental  self. 
The  ancient  Persians  themselves  could  not  have 
found  fault  with  his  marvelous  setting.  No 
Frenchman,  nor  any  artist  influenced  by  French 
ideas,  would  have  dared  to  use  such  a  gamut  of 
brilliant  colors  at  a  time  when  our  drab,  occidental 
culture  sought  appropriate  expression  in  flat 
subdued  tones.  Bakst,  however,  was  an  exuber- 
ant Semitic  barbarian,  and  he  wanted  his  colors, 
like  his  characters,  to  sing  and  shout  and  dance 
with  joyous  abandon.  Fortunately,  Paris  stood 
aghast  long  enough  for  her  discerning  arbiters 
of  good  taste  to  win  the  day  for  the  Russian 
artist,  and  a  renaissance  of  color  set  in.  Emer- 
ald, indigo  and  geranium,  the  leopard's  spots  and 
the  scales  of  the  serpent,  black,  rose,  vermilion 
and  triumphant  orange,  were  all  shrieking  to  be 
heard,  and  shrieking  in  harmony.  It  was  an  orgy 
of  color  to  the  last  possible  tension.  Nature  was 
sacrificed  by  him,  though  not  so  violently  as  by 
Van  Gogh  or  the  Post- Impressionists,  in  order  to 


COSTUME  i  OK  M.    MASSINI-:   i\   "L'Oisi.M    DM  Fr.u" 
\\  ater  Color  Druwini;  liv  Leon  Kukst 


arouse  the  emotions.  The  effect  of  the  colors 
was  enforced  and  exalted  by  the  voluptuous 
movements  of  the  dancers  and  the  astonishing 
music  which  Rimsky-Korsakow  had  written  for 
this  miracle  of  joint  creation.  Had  the  author  of 
"Les  Fleurs  du  Mai"  been  present,  he  would 
have  hailed  the  colorist  as  a  great  epic  poet. 
Haughty  sultans  embraced  their  false  sultanas, 
grinning  eunuchs,  like  gorgeous  speckled  birds, 
dangled  golden  keys  while  their  doom  was  im- 
pending, powerful  exultant  lovers,  black  as  ebony, 
whirled  the  frenzied  women  about,  to  the  tunes 
of  baleful  Hindu  musicians.  The  maddest  de- 
sires dwelt  in  this  palace  of  splendid  sins,  where 
eternal  agony  was  the  price  of  the  happiness  of  the 
poignant  fleeting  moment.  It  was  a  fascinating 
dream  of  brutal  sensuality,  of  regal  jealousy.  As 
a  French  critic  pointed  out,  every  color  was 
used  by  Bakst  save  white  —  the  symbol  of  purity 
and  arctic  frigidity  —  to  accentuate  the  warmth 
of  the  passions  of  these  ardent  lovers.  It  was 
sensual,  but  in  a  youthful,  robust  way  —  like  the 
Song  of  Songs,  or  a  Bacchanale  of  Rubens. 

Here  at  last  was  an  artist  who  deigned  to  de- 
vote his  gifts  to  the  stage.  In  Russia  his  appear- 
ance would  not  have  been  regarded  as  a  rare 
phenomenon,  for  they  were  accustomed  to  the 
presence  in  the  theatre  of  their  best  artists,  men 
who  revelled  in  the  vast  spaces  and  the  luxurious 
amplitude  which  the  stage  allows.  Bakst 's  friend 
Benois,  whose  easel  paintings  are  highly  esteemed, 
created  the  splendor  of  "Le  Pavilion  d'Armide" 


and  "Petrouschka."  He  is  a  scholarly  critic,  the 
author  of  a  valuable  History  of  Painting,  and  a 
recognized  authority  on  French  styles.  The  primi- 
tive Russian  periods,  the  desolate  steppes,  fan- 
tastic forests,  and  the  savagely  colored  clothes 
are  specialties  of  Theodor  Fedorovsky,  and  of  Roe- 
rich,  Director  of  the  Academy  at  Petrograd.  The 
decors  by  the  latter  for  his  own  "Sacre  du  Prin- 
temps"  and  for  Borodine's  opera,  "Prince  Igor," 
created  a  sensation  and  elicited  a  eulogy  from 
Jacques  Blanche,  who  considered  their  violent 
crudity  epoch-making  theatrical  innovations. 
Boris  Anisfeld,  now  in  America,  whose  beautiful 
scenery  for  the  submarine  ballet  of  "Sadko" 
was  used  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  is  a 
talented  member  of  the  group  we  have  mentioned. 
Paris  also  made  much  of  the  interesting  artist 
Soudejkinc,  a  color  symbolist  whose  art  has  much 
in  common  with  the  Post-Impressionists.  His 
theories  are  as  vague  as  the  verbal  paradoxes  of 
the  Futurists,  but  the  appeal  of  his  decorations 
for  "Salome"  is  swift  and  compelling  and  his  suc- 
cess in  the  theatre  has  been  considerable.  Other 
gifted  men  were  employed  by  Diaghilew  to  rehabili- 
tate the  Russian  stage,  but  to  add  to  the  list  here 
would  not  answer  any  important  purpose. 

Bakst's  triumphs,  however,  did  not  end  with 
the  theatre,  for  when  his  little  maquettes,  glow- 
ing like  Persian  parchment,  were  exhibited,  the 
finest  continental  connoisseurs  were  eager  to  acquire 
them  and  the  city  of  Paris  honored  him  by  pur- 
chasing a  collection  of  his  works.  It  will  be  readily 

C383 


seen  that  these  alluring  aquarelles,  with  their  rich 
touches  of  silver  and  gold,  are  things  of  passion 
in  themselves  and  have  a  value  quite  apart  from 
the  stage.  Indeed,  in  the  case  of  many  of  the 
Greek  designs  we  almost  prefer  to  enjoy  their  re- 
pose in  a  quiet  studio  rather  than  in  the  theatre. 
Studying  a  mixed  group  of  them  we  can  best 
appreciate  what  a  great  virtuoso  Bakst  is.  They 
are  not  mere  fashion  plates  or  ordinary  costume 
drawings,  although  the  vestments,  which  move 
with  the  natural  rhythm  of  birds'  wings,  seem  to 
be  living  things.  The  figures,  whose  bodies  and 
very  souls  are  enveloped  by  color,  are  only  lightly 
suggested,  being  subordinate  to  the  gestures  and 
draperies,  which  accentuate  and"  display  to  the 
greatest  advantage  the  beauty  of  the  young  sup- 
ple muscles,  round  bosoms,  and  powerful  thighs. 
Every  drawing,  whether  in  a  tender  or  vigorous 
mood,  is  intensely  alive  and  singularly  persuasive, 
and  its  aesthetic  value  will  eventually  be  height- 
ened by  its  historical  importance.  When  the 
huge  settings  will  crumble  and  the  fashion  for  opera 
and  the  ballet  will  change,  we  shall  still  have  these 
exciting  designs  to  remind  us  that  we  had  in  our 
midst  a  stimulating  artist,  who  delivered  us  for- 
ever from  the  old-fashioned  divertissement. 
Bakst's  name  will  then  be  linked  not  only  with 
those  of  the  prominent  contemporary  painters, 
but  with  modern  innovators  like  William  Morris 
and  Gordon  Craig,  who  from  time  to  time  gave 
an  impetus  to  decoration  and  infused  the  theatre 
and  our  lives  with  new  spirit. 

C393 


MAURICE  STERNE 


FEW  years  ago,  while  enjoying  the 
privilege  of  examining  the  interest- 
ing collections  of  Hamilton  Field 
in  Brooklyn,  my  attention  was 
arrested  by  two  drawings  which 
seemed  to  be  the  work  of  some  in- 
spired Italian  primitive,  and  it  was  an  agreeable 
surprise  to  learn  that  they  were  made  by  a  young 
American  painter,  Maurice  Sterne.  A  few  months 
later  Sterne's  name  was  cited  by  a  discriminating 
critic  in  London  as  an  example  of  the  silent,  hid- 
den worker  whose  influence  was  acknowledged 
\vherever  the  progress  of  art  was  seriously  fol- 
lowed. Curiosity  was  naturally  aroused  by  this 
chance  acquaintance  with  a  new  name,  and  the 
determination  to  meet  Sterne  was  finally  reached 
after  a  conversation  with  Dr.  Max  J.  Friedlander, 
at  that  time  the  Director  of  the  Kupferstich 
Kabinet  in  Berlin.  Various  Americans  were  be- 
ing discussed  and  the  director  admitted  their 
talents  and  abilities,  but  stated  that  in  his  opinion 
only  two  Americans  had  appeared  whose  influence 
on  art  is  of  cosmopolitan  importance,  —  Whistler 
and  Maurice  Sterne,  who  was  then  living  near 
Rome.  In  summer,  to  avoid  the  unbearable 

C403 


heat,  Sterne  worked  in  a  simple  studio  at  Anti- 
coIi-Corrado,  a  tiny  hill-town  in  the  mountains. 
From  the  window  of  the  slowly  moving  train 
Tivoli  can  be  seen,  with  its  waterfalls,  ruined  tem- 
ples, aqueducts,  and  villas,  and  you  follow  the 
vale  of  the  turbid  Anio,  flowing  tumultuously 
through  groves  of  silvery  green  olives  and  fertile 
vineyards.  Dreaming  of  Horace  and  his  Sabine 
farm,  I  arrived  at  a  deserted  station  on  either 
side  of  which  stand  hills  capped  by  two  ancient 
picturesque  towns,  Anticoli-Corrado  and  Roviano. 
A  sturdy  shepherd  was  passing  with  his  flock,  and 
I  asked  him  where  the  artist  lived.  He  pointed 
up  the  long  winding  road  leading  to  the  vil- 
lage on  the  right  and  informed  me  that  he  was 
one  of  the  many  who  posed  for  Signor  Sterne. 
Anticoli  is  inhabited  almost  exclusively  by  models, 
and  the  artists  in  Rome  rely  on  it  to  supply  them 
with  inspiration.  It  is  a  strange  place,  character- 
istically Italian,  full  of  appalling  filth,  and  inhabi- 
tants of  great  beauty.  The  women  are  like  god- 
desses, carrying  water  on  their  heads  from  the 
public  fountain,  in  shining  copper  vessels  resem- 
bling amphorae;  the  goatherds  are  ideals  of 
masculine  strength  and  grace,  and  they  all  main- 
tain their  charm  in  notoriously  dirty  houses, 
mingling  with  squealing  black  swine,  cattle, 
poultry,  and  innumerable  half-naked  bambini. 
Sterne,  lightly  clad  in  a  suit  of  spun  silk,  came 
down  the  steep  path  to  meet  me,  and  after  a  short 
climb  we  were  resting  in  a  pleasant  grape  arbor, 
built  on  a  small  plateau  overlooking  Anticoli. 

C4O 


Here  in  the  open  air  his  models  posed.  While  he 
talked  about  his  work  Sterne  impressed  me  as 
charmingly  frank  and  unaffected  in  manner. 
Predictions  of  future  achievements,  contemptuous 
or  glowing  notices,  would  have  no  effect  on  him. 
He  was  serious  and  modest,  confident  in  the 
soundness  of  his  artistic  ideals,  and  a  man  who 
would  never  make  concessions  to  win  popularity. 
He  was  born  in  1877  at  Libau,  a  Russian  seaport 
on  the  Baltic,  and  when  about  twrelve  years  old 
he  emigrated  with  his  widowed  mother  to  America, 
where  they  became  units  in  the  great  melting  pot 
on  New  York's  East  Side.  The  boy  went  to  night 
school  while  earning  a  livelihood  as  a  bar  waiter, 
an  engraver's  apprentice,  or  in  other  humbler 
ways.  Later  he  joined  a  class  at  the  Old  Academy 
of  Design  on  Twenty-third  Street,  and  attended 
the  art  schools  of  the  city.  It  did  not  take  long 
for  his  teachers  and  fellow-students  to  single  him 
out  as  possessing  an  exceptional  talent.  He 
won  the  offered  prizes  with  ease.  William  M. 
Chase  encouraged  and  honored  him  by  pur- 
chasing one  of  his  canvases  for  a  substantial  sum. 
He  also  achieved  local  fame  by  making  a  series 
of  etchings, — chief  among  which  is  the  Coney 
Island  set,  —  and  he  assisted  the  late  James  D. 
Smillic  as  instructor  of  etching.  Sterne's  plates 
are  notable  for  their  sincerity,  freshness,  and 
novelty,  and  they  received  special  and  very 
favorable  mention  when  they  were  afterwards 
exhibited  at  the  Paris  Salons.  His  work  with  the 
needle  served  to  help  him  win  the  first  traveling 

C423 


BAI.INESE  MOTHER 

Painting  hv  Maurice  Sterne,  Rhode  Island  School  <>J  Design, 
Providence,  R.  I. 


scholarship  offered  by  the  Academy  through  the 
generosity  of  a  former  academician,  and  he  left 
for  Europe  in  1904. 

Such  a  trip  is  usually  regarded  as  the  turn- 
ing-point of  an  artist's  career.  In  Sterne's  case, 
however,  the  change  in  environment  did  not  mean 
much.  It  was  a  period  of  unrest.  For  a  time  he 
loafed  about  Paris,  leading  the  bohemian  life  of 
its  Quartier  Latin,  and  occasionally  he  executed 
a  copy  of  an  old  master  in  the  Louvre.  An 
extraordinary  example  of  this  period  is  his  copy  of 
Mantegna's  "Parnassus,"  the  essentials  of  which 
are  beautifully  suggested  in  a  notably  free  and 
vigorous  manner.  Sterne  at  this  time  also  came 
into  touch  with  the  work  of  Gauguin  and  Cezanne 
and  of  their  Parisian  disciples,  but  it  should  be 
noted  that  his  art  is  not  diluted  post-impres- 
sionism, for  he  did  not  begin  to  find  himself  until 
chance  took  him  to  Greece.  There,  among  the 
tranquil  marble  gods,  in  the  clear  golden  light, 
Sterne  realized  as  never  before  that  the  secret  of 
the  ancients  had  been  lost,  that  his  painting  had 
been  a  kind  of  artistic  colored  photography, 
cheap  naturalism,  a  weak,  feminine,  anaemic  art, 
without  any  of  the  strength,  nobility,  or  superb 
simplicity  of  the  precious  fragments  at  Delphi. 
He  buried  himself  in  a  monastery  at  Hymettos  and 
began  over  again  to  learn  to  draw  the  human 
figure,  trying  first  to  forget  his  old  manner  and  then 
striving  to  achieve  a  little  of  the  masculine  power 
and  luster  of  the  bronze  charioteer  or  the  distinc- 
tion of  the  Caryatides  on  the  Erechtheum. 

C433 


For  those  who  recalled  Sterne's  exhibition, 
held  about  twenty  years  ago  at  the  Old  Coun- 
try Sketch  Club  on  Broadway,  it  was  difficult 
to  realize  that  his  Italian  works,  shown  in  1912, 
\vere  by  the  same  man.  Only  etchings  of  that 
earlier  period  were  exhibited,  and  all  the  drawings 
and  paintings,  with  the  exception  of  the  above- 
mentioned  copy  of  Mantegna,  were  made  after 
1908.  Some  of  these  drawings  were  marvels  of 
painstaking  care,  at  times  reminding  us  of  the 
early  Germans.  Others  recall  Pollaiuolo's  Battle 
of  Ten  Nudes  and  the  frescoes  in  the  Villa  Galletti, 
not  only  in  feeling  but  also  the  special  manner  of 
preparing  the  paper,  the  use  of  the  silverpoint, 
and  other  details.  It  was  easy  to  understand 
why  a  connoisseur  like  Berenson  enthused  over 
these.  Such  an  achievement  as  his  drawing  of 
an  old  toothless  Italian  woman  now  in  the  Fogg 
Art  Museum  at  Harvard  could  be  credited  to  very 
few  artists  of  recent  times.  Sterne,  very  properly 
however,  regarded  these  drawings  as  mere  themes 
and  preparations  for  future  work.  In  studying 
the  entire  series  we  saw  the  order  in  which  they 
were  made,  each  drawing  being  simpler  than  its 
predecessor,  but  all  having  the  indispensable 
facts  of  form  and  character.  The  same  \vas  true 
of  the  studies  for  a  large  fresco  entitled  :<The 
Harvest."  This  composition  enabled  Sterne  to 
impose  upon  himself  a  great  task  and  the  solution 
of  many  fascinating  artistic  problems, -- the  hu- 
man figure  at  all  ages  and  in  all  its  natural  poses 
typifying  abstract  ideas  of  maternity,  youthful 


energy,  relaxation,  patience,  the  weight  of  bodies, 
masculine  strength,  and  so  on.  We  can  hardly 
hope  that  Sterne  will  ever  complete  this  colos- 
sal work  which  served  him  then  as  a  motive  for 
research. 

His  first  effort  in  sculpture,  the  "Pasquale," 
was  also  extremely  fine, — a  little  masterpiece 
in  its  way.  It  had  more  naivete  than  the  work 
of  Maillol,  if  not  his  perfect  science,  and  the  criti- 
cism that  the  treatment  of  the  hair  was  a  trifle 
archaic  was  answered  on  seeing  the  model.  His 
paintings  and  later  drawings  were  far  more  per- 
plexing and  were  condemned  by  a  hasty  public  as 
deliberate  attempts  on  the  artist's  part  to  destroy 
his  good  reputation.  They  were,  however,  really 
the  logical  successors  of  the  earlier  works.  With 
a  single  expressive  line  Sterne  accomplished  what 
it  would  have  taken  him  many  hours  or  days  to 
do  a  few  years  before.  The  complicated  anatomy 
of  a  bent  knee,  a  face  drawn  with  agony,  the 
limpness  of  a  dead  or  sleeping  figure,  —  all  these 
things  he  could  suggest  in  a  final  inevitable  manner 
with  the  simplest  possible  means.  No  shadows, 
elaborate  lines,  or  ornaments  were  needed.  Every- 
thing not  absolutely  essential  was  eliminated,  and 
the  simplicity  of  means  employed  added  tremen- 
dously to  the  power  of  the  effect.  At  times  they 
reminded  you  of  Rodin's  instantanees,  but  at  rest. 
Today,  after  our  acquaintance  with  the  post-im- 
pressionists and  cubists,  these  drawings  and 
paintings  are  as  clear  in  their  meaning  as  a  paint- 
ing of  the  play  of  light  on  a  lily  pond  by  Monet. 

[453 


Not  so  long  ago  plein-airism  was  as  much  of  a 
mystery  as  post-impressionism  is  now,  and  Gou- 
nod's Faust,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  at  one 
time  the  unmelodious  music  of  the  future.  In- 
deed, the  attitude  of  the  intelligent  art-loving  public 
toward  original  work  of  this  kind  is  prettily  illus- 
trated by  a  story  told  about  Douglas  Jerrold. 
The  wit  was  ill  and  was  trying  for  the  first  time  to 
read  Browning's  "Sordello."  He  kept  at  it  for  a 
while,  but  finally  sank  back  on  his  pillow,  helpless 
and  bewildered,  and  cried  out,  "Oh,  God,  I  am 
an  idiot!"  But  even  the  Browning  clubs  under- 
stand "Sordello"  today. 

Sterne  made  no  claims  for  those  paintings 
except  that  they  were  the  works  of  a  serious  ex- 
perimenter. Even  then  he  was  not  a  reflection 
of  the  post-impressionistic  movement,  but  was 
rather  at  the  opposite  pole  of  modern  art.  His 
drawings  were  antique  in  their  fine  severity,  and 
some  of  the  paintings  revealed  the  beauty  of  an 
austere  unbroken  line,  a  noble  Greek  tranquillity, 
a  fine  rhythm  in  composition,  and  a  tonic  quality 
in  their  cool  purples  and  warm  browns.  He  did 
not  find  himself  however,  as  a  painter,  until  he 
settled  in  Bali,  one  of  the  islands  of  the  East  In- 
dian Archipelago.  Since  it  was  there,  that  he 
divested  himself  of  the  few  trammels  of  artistic 
convention  which  still  clung  to  him,  we  may  be 
pardoned  for  quoting  freely  a  personal  note  to  his 
exhibition  of  Balinese  works.  'Many  will  wonder, " 
wrote  Sterne,  "where  and  what  is  Bali,  and  I  have 
been  asked  to  say  something  about  it.  For  two 

C463 


reasons  this  is  very  difficult.  First,  my  twenty 
months'  sojourn  there,  was  an  experience  of  the 
senses,  and  how  is  one  to  describe  the  perfume  of 
a  flower,  strains  of  music,  or  the  different  sensa- 
tions of  touch?  Second,  for  comprehension,  simi- 
larity of  experience  is  essential,  -  -  imagination  is  of 
little  help  when  called  upon  to  realize  forms,  colors, 
and  sounds,  unlike  anything  else  we  are  familiar 
with,  —  and  Bali  is  so  very  unlike  any  other  place 
in  the  West  or  in  the  East.  .  .  .  The  Balinese 
alone  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  archipelago 
have  to  this  day  retained  the  Hindu  religion. 
Islam,  with  its  art  barrenness,  has  been  imposed 
upon  the  neighboring  islands.  In  abstract,  austere 
Mohammedanism  there  is  little  room  for  art,  —  it 
has  sunk  to  mere  decoration,  tolerated  as  a  prayer- 
rug  under  the  feet  of  the  devotee,  --  whereas  to  the 
impassioned  Hindu  it  is  a  means  of  getting  closer  to 
God.  With  them  art  is  religion's  language,  under- 
stood by  God.  Symmetry  are  its  words,  rhythm  its 
phrases,  perfect  balance  its  sentences.  Like  the 
immense  active  volcano  towering  above  the  terraced 
ricefields  and  teeming  tropical  vegetation,  Religion, 
passionate  and  agitated,  projects  from  their  daily 
tasks.  The  same  fire  or  unknown  force  which 
from  the  bowels  of  the  earth  exhales  steam  and 
molten  lava  from  the  mouth  of  the  crater,  gushes 
from  the  heart  of  the  frenzied  worshiper,  leaving 
him  prostrate  and  in  a  deathly  stupor  at  the  feet 
of  his  deity.  A  fiery,  emotional,  passionate  relig- 
ion, the  gentler  Gods  of  Hindustan  have  been 
almost  forgotten.  Knowing  the  power  of  de- 


struction,  Brahma  the  Creator  and  Vishnu  the 
Preserver  have  sunk  to  a  secondary  place.  Shiva 
the  Destroyer  is  honored  most.  The  religious 
rites  are  for  the  most  part  hysteric  trances  or 
frenzies,  and  the  elements  are  symbolically  ex- 
pressed in  their  sacred  dances  at  the  temple  festi- 
vals. In  the  largest  painting  shown  in  my  first 
exhibition,  I  have  tried  to  show  one  of  these  dances. 
Fire,  Water,  and  Air  are  represented  by  priests 
and  priestesses  carrying  incense  burners,  bowls 
of  water  and  fans.  Rapid  upward  flickering  action 
of  flames,  threatening  sinuous  flow  of  water, 
and  irresistible  air  are  expressed  in  rhythmic 
movement  and  significant  gesture. 

"  Not  only  religious  functions,  but  the  common- 
est pursuits  are  carried  out  with  a  grace,  dignity, 
and  grandeur  familiar  to  us  from  the  finest  ancient 
art  alone.  What,  for  instance,  could  be  more 
prosaic  than  buying  or  selling,  but  here  ducks, 
pigs,  and  fruit  are  sold  with  an  air  suggestive  of 
sacrifice,  incense,  flowers,  and  the  altar.  In 
geometric  designs  they  arrange  their  fish  for  sale; 
the  fruit  is  piled  up  in  perfect  pyramids;  like 
golden  queens  they  sit  enthroned  among  the 
richly  colored  stuffs,  and  not  unlike  goddesses 
they  emerge  from  the  miniature  mountains  of 
rice.  Like  splendid  Persian  rugs  spread  in  the 
intense  shade  of  the  gigantic  banyan  trees,  are 
the  bazaars.  Here  nature  has  become  the  medium 
of  art,  and  art  the  expression  of  nature.  Art  is 
hardly  needed  where  the  aesthetic  sense  is  stimu- 
lated by  life,  and  not,  as  in  the  West,  by  art  alone." 

£48] 


PLT.BI.O  INDIAN 
Bronze  bv  Maurice  Sterne 


From  eight  to  ten  thousand  studies  were  made 
by  Sterne  during  those  three  years  in  the  East. 
His  painting  became  solid  and  straightforward, 
and  his  method  of  expression  complete.  The  spirit  of 
the  island  is  conventionalized  and  interpreted  in  the 
superb  way  in  which  Gauguin  treated  Tahiti.  The 
primitive  dignity  of  the  inhabitants,  the  shaven 
nuns,  the  strange  ascetics,  the  angular  movements 
of  the  temple  dancers  are  all  handled  with  fine 
simplicity  and  notable  success,  and  the  marvelous 
color,  suggesting  the  eternal  dusk  of  the  tropical 
jungle,  is  always  in  keeping  with  the  subject. 
Magnificent  color  is  used  to  build  up  the  forms 
and  shadows.  Gorgeous  low-keyed  harmonies 
of  pigment  are  found  in  each  canvas.  The 
tricks  of  Monsieur  Matisse  are  avoided,  and 
without  losing  any  of  the  masculinity,  which 
Hamilton  Field  pointed  out  as  one  of  his  distin- 
guishing traits,  he  has  become  refined  where  he 
was  formerly  rude.  But  it  would  be  absurd  to 
exhaust  the  stock  phraseology  or  catch  words 
of  art  criticism  on  these  works.  The  more  one 
studies  them  the  more  beautiful  they  appear, 
and  as  Rodin,  their  admirer,  said,  after  seeing 
them,  "Their  quality  needs  no  reclame" 

After  his  return  to  America,  Sterne  added  a 
lighter  side  to  his  art  by  making  a  series  of  beauti- 
ful flower  studies.  Peonies,  hyacinths,  lilies,  and 
tulips  were  painted  in  a  novel  manner.  Other  in- 
terludes were  a  portrait  of  Dr.  Lowndes  in  Sterne's 
Italian  style,  and  some  remarkable  drawings 
oriental  in  feeling  of  Mabel  Dodge,  whom  he  sub- 


sequently  married.  Rock  formation  at  Province- 
town  on  Cape  Cod  also  interested  him  but  he 
became  artistically  repatriated  only  after  his  trip 
to  Taos.  He  began  modelling  and  drawing  the 
American  Indians  with  his  old  enthusiasm,  and 
there  are  also  some  graceful  drawings  of  the  pupils 
of  the  Duncan  School  of  Dancers.  These  studies, 
we  hope,  may  lead  up  to  some  greater  work,  which 
will  at  last  give  him  the  high  position  to  which  so 
many  of  us  feel  that  he  is  entitled. 


C  50  3 


PAUL  MANSHIP 


HEN  Paul  Manship  returned  to 
America  in  1912,  after  a  three  years 
residence  at  the  American  Acad- 
emy in  Rome,  he  enjoyed  an  envi- 
able measure  of  success.  Every 
critic  praised  him,  the  progressives 
commented  upon  his  simplicity,  the  academicians, 
who  regarded  him  as  one  of  their  number,  pointed 
with  pride  to  his  superb  technique,  and  his  debut 
was  regarded  as  a  justification  for  the  existence 
of  the  Academy  itself.  Medals  and  prizes  were 
awarded  him,  architects  were  eager  to  collaborate 
with  him  and  he  was  given  commissions  of  an 
inspiring  nature.  A  temperate  discussion  of  his 
merits  seemed  impossible.  It  was  a  dangerous 
"succes  fou"  for  a  young  man. 

Manship  was  then  only  twenty-six  years  old,  and 
his  career  had  been  in  no  way  remarkable.  He 
had  begun  drawing  from  life  in  the  school  of  Fine 
Arts  at  St.  Paul,  his  native  city,  and  was  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  he  had  practically  no 
feeling  whatever  for  color.  A  painter's  career 
was  therefore  out  of  the  question,  but  while  he 

eked  out  a  living  as   a  photo-engraver,   and  by 

r*   ,  T  -i 
L  ?l  J 


making  drawings  for  medical  works,  he  felt 
vaguely  that  he  must  express  himself  with  some 
artistic  medium  and  he  kept  pursuing  the  evasive 
goddess.  Finally  he  drifted  to  New  York  and 
attended  classes  at  the  Art  Students  League. 
Happy  chance  brought  him  into  touch  with 
Solon  Borglum  and  his  training  henceforth  was 
of  a  very  favorable  kind.  Borglum  was  then  at 
work  on  some  equestrian  statues  and  he  engaged 
the  younger  man  as  his  assistant.  Manship 
was  present  at  the  dissection  of  one  or  two  car- 
casses, and  it  is  to  Borglum's  influence  that  he 
attributes  his  keen  interest  in  animal  forms. 
His  next  studies  were  made  under  another  sound 
teacher,  Charles  Grafly,  at  the  Pennsylvania 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  and  still  later  he  worked 
with  Isidore  Konti.  In  1909  a  bas  relief  of  an 
great  originality  entitled  "Rest  after  Toil"  won 
him  the  scholarship  offered  by  the  American 
Academy  at  Rome,  and  he  left  for  a  three  years 
sojourn  in  Europe. 

At  that  time  Manship's  tastes  in  art  were 
quite  conventional.  He  started  with  the  usual 
enthusiasms,  loving  in  turn  the  Frenchmen,  the 
Italians  and  finally  the  Greeks.  Houdon,  Michel- 
angelo, Donatello,  Meunier  and  Rodin  were  all 
emulated  from  time  to  time,  but  he  found  himself 
only  after  he  began  to  appreciate  the  Greek 
primitives.  He  approached  the  grander  and  more 
profound  forms  of  Hellenistic  art  through  the 
study  of  those  minute  fragments  which  reveal 
the  simpler  and  lighter  phases  of  the  classic 

£52] 


spirit.  A  little  head  spouting  water,  a  drawing 
on  a  vase,  a  carved  intaglio,  a  precious  coin, 
the  bronze  claw  from  the  statuette  of  some 
animal,  —  these  humbler  forms  helped  him  to 
analyze  the  nobler  secrets  of  the  ancients.  His 
three  European  years  were  rich  in  opportunities, 
and  he  obviously  neglected  nothing. 

One  feature  of  his  grand  tour  was  a  walk- 
ing trip  through  Spain  with  Hunt  Diederich, 
and  both  men  have  amusing  tales  to  tell  of 
their  adventures.  Manship,  while  on  his  travels, 
learned  a  great  lesson,  -  -  the  essential  unity  of 
all  primitive  art,  whether  Greek,  Assyrian,  Gothic, 
Egyptian,  or  East  Indian.  The  art  of  the  Renais- 
sance strongly  influenced  the  uncompromising 
lines  of  his  recent  remarkable  portraits  of 
John  D.  Rockefeller,  Sr.,  and  Master  Cameron 
Bradley,  but  no  matter  what  period  interested 
him,  it  was  first  moulded  to  his  own  purposes, 
and  his  personality  was  adjusted  to  the  older 
style.  From  the  very  start  he  invariably  pro- 
duced something  original,  and  when  he  returned 
to  America  with  his  early  works,  noted  especially 
for  their  fascinating  line  and  delicious  imprevu 
quality,  they  were  indiscriminately  enjoyed  and 
created  an  exhilarating  sensation.  Some  critics, 
who  had  apparently  forgotten  that  men  like  Alfred 
Stevens,  the  greatest  English  sculptor,  had  never 
studied  outside  of  Italy,  doubted  the  wisdom  of 
sending  such  a  gifted  youth  to  a  foreign  country, 
but  even  they  recognized  in  Manship  the  master 
of  a  style  which  is  the  product  of  all  that  is  good 

C53] 


in  what  he  saw,  mingled  with  something  which 
only  nature  could  have  endowed  him  with.  After 
the  first  flush  of  pleasure  was  over,  however,  his 
enthusiastic  admirers  became  more  sober,  seized 
upon  his  obvious  debt  to  primitive  sculpture, 
and  the  critical  pendulum  began  to  swing  in 
the  opposite  direction.  They  began  to  have 
doubts  about  this  remarkable  facility  and  versa- 
tility. Were  his  archaistic  conventions  anything 
more  than  adaptations  of  antique  originals?  Was 
the  young  man  already  assuming  mannerisms? 
Did  he  possess  the  magnificent  patience  and 
seriousness  which  are  absolutely  essential  to  the 
making  of  a  great  artist?  Had  Paul  Manship 
seen  fit  to  show  us  in  greater  detail  how  he  works, 
he  would  have  given  an  impressive  answer  to 
such  derogatory  reflections,  but  like  his  genial 
Cornish  Triend  and  neighbor,  Maxfield  Parrish, 
he  refused  to  follow  the  prevailing  fashion  of 
preserving  studio  litter,  in  the  shape  of  inchoate 
scribbles,  and  calling  them  precious  drawings.  The 
spirited  sketches  for  his  Boy  Hunter  and  Wrestlers 
were  included  in  his  first  comprehensive  New  York 
exhibition  more  or  less  against  his  wishes.  All 
the  drudgery,  the  experiments  and  the  doubt- 
fully valuable  studies  are  destroyed,  and  we  have 
only  the  exquisitely  finished  works  as  his  answer 
to  the  critics.  Instead  of  fumbling  attempts, 
he  shows  gem-like  reliefs  of  adorable  putti,  the 
draughtsmanship  of  which  is  extremely  delicate 
and  true.  His  studies  in  plaster,  and  even  some 
of  those  which  for  personal  reasons  he  chose  to 


TIMI.  AND  mi:  D.\  NCI  NX;   HOIKS 
Bron/.c  Sun-Dial,  l>y  Paul  Mansbip 


have  cast  in  bronze,  should  be  looked  upon  as 
he  looks  upon  them,  —  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a 
possible  means,  a  stage  in  the  evolution  of  a 
finished  work  and  merely  informing  to  the  student. 
Only  his  intimates  know  what  deep  thought  and 
study  go  to  the  making  of  these  facile-looking, 
captivating  little  figures,  and  it  is  characteristic 
of  the  artist  that  no  marks  of  painful  effort  are 
left.  He  calls  to  mind  Zola's  dictum:  "Dans 
I'oeuvre  d'art,  je  cherche,  j'aime  rhomme,  I'ar- 
tiste."  Manship  in  his  work  reveals  himself 
as  free  from  every  form  of  morbidity,  a  frank 
genial  nature  overflowing  with  piquant  humor, 
a  man  of  taste  who  loves  superb  workmanship 
for  its  own  sake.  He  is  still  too  young  and 
his  temperament  too  joyous  to  create  works 
breathing  the  poignant  pathos  of  the  magnificent 
fragments  at  Rheims,  or  comparable  with  the 
creations  of  the  ancient  meditative  geniuses,  nor 
is  he  aiming  to  produce  grandiose  figures  whose 
souls  are  tormented.  The  Great  War,  which 
stirred  him  deeply,  took  him  back  again  to  his 
beloved  Rome,  not  in  his  capacity  as  an  artist, 
but  as  a  Captain  of  the  Red  Cross.  Thus  far 
only  a  few  medals  have  been  inspired  directly 
by  the  conflict,  and  it  would  be  idle  to  prophesy 
about  the  influence  of  the  war  upon  his  art.  To- 
day his  name  awakens  in  our  minds  the  idea  of 
finesse  and  perfection  as  contrasted  with  artistic 
slovenliness  which  is  such  a  prevailing  fashion 
in  our  day.  Here  is  an  artist  who  will  never 
exploit  his  personality  and  whose  works  are  so 

[55: 


carefully  thought  out,  that  no  points  are  accen- 
tuated. Had  Brancusi  constructed  an  amusing 
sculptural  caricature  on  the  lines  of  the  "Briseis," 
the  modernists  would  not  fail  to  call  attention 
to  the  beautiful  simplification,  the  delightful 
surface  and  lovely  patina,  the  solid  modelling 
and  the  clever  way  in  which  the  drapery  cuts  the 
line  of  the  nude  figure  at  the  back,  whereas  before 
Manship's  work  you  are  lost  in  simple  admiration. 
It  does  not  attract  attention  by  reason  of  any 
obvious  geometrical  construction.  "Briseis"  is 
like  a  beautiful  Grecian  vase,  exquisite  in  her 
symmetry,  restraint,  and  delicate  transitions  of 
modelling.  Years  of  conscientious  study  lie  be- 
hind her  poetical  elegance.  The  sculptor's  hand, 
free  from  technical  constraint,  has  analyzed 
her  pose  and  gesture  and  rendered  these  freely 
and  easily.  Likewise  in  the  "Dancer  and  Ga- 
zelles," the  wise  spectator  skips  about  with  the 
fragile  little  animals  instead  of  pondering  on 
the  fine  architectonic  qualities,  the  perfect  tri- 
angular design  of  the  group,  or  the  obvious 
debt  which  it  owes  to  the  bronzes  in  the  Naples 
Museum.  A  still  more  remarkable  work  is  Man- 
ship's  harmoniously  balanced  Sun-dial.  In  the 
placid  figure  of  Time,  the  pose  of  which  creates 
a  sinuous  line  of  great  beauty,  Manship  is  free 
and  modern  in  form  although  there  are  many 
obvious  archaic  Oriental  details.  The  Eastern 
source  of  inspiration  in  this  dial,  as  well  as  in  the 
recent  armillary  spheres  and  the  very  popular 
"Flight  of  Night,"  is  readily  acknowledged,  and 

C56]  " 


. 


PORTRAIT  01    PAILINI:  FRANCES  MANSHIP,  THRF.I;  WI.KKS  OLD 

By  Paul  .Mansbip 
The  \letr<>])olitan  .Museum  of  Art 


here  it  may  be  noted  that  Manship  is  an  enthusi- 
astic member  of  the  India  Society.  In  fact,  one  of 
his  post  bellum  dreams, — after  he  finishes  the  monu- 
mental decorative  sculptures  for  the  gardens  of 
Charles  M.  Schwab  and  Herbert  Pratt,  —  is  a  long 
stay  in  the  Orient,  a  journey  for  which  he  is  pre- 
paring by  studying  Japanese.  While  such  a  trip 
to  the  East  may  intensify  certain  features  of 
his  work,  the  quiet  dignity  of  the  Sun-dial, 
its  serenity  and  notable  largeness  of  conception, 
-  in  spite  of  the  jewel-like  ornaments,  with  which 
his  charming  abstraction  is  surrounded,  —  are 
standards  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  excel.  The 
signs  of  the  Zodiac,  the  dancing  hours,  the  ani- 
mals, and  other  decorative  bas-reliefs,  are  un- 
surpassed by  any  American  artist.  Perfect 
technically  and  always  consistent  with  and  sub- 
sidiary to  the  main  idea,  they  may  be  character- 
ized as  the  expression  of  Manship's  playful 
exuberance.  They  are  a  relaxation  from  his 
more  ambitious  problems,  and  constitute  the  spe- 
cial glories  of  the  "Centaur  and  Dryad,"  and  the 
portrait  of  the  artist's  daughter,  his  profoundest 
creation,  and  a  work  which  never  fails  to  excite 
wonder.  Little  Pauline  Frances,  executed  with 
loving  care,  must  surely  be  a  complete  answer 
to  those  wrho  still  have  doubts  of  the  nobility 
of  the  artistic  aims  of  Paul  Manship.  As  long 
as  wrorks  like  this  are  produced  by  our  artists, 
plastic  art  is  in  safe  hands,  and  standing  alone 
it  would  be  a  justification  of  the  high  compliment 
paid  the  young  artist  by  the  trustees  of  the  Metro- 


politan  Museum  of  Art,  when  they  commissioned 
him  to  make  the  J.  Pierpont  Morgan  Memorial, 
to  be  erected  in  the  Museum.  Searching  criticism 
and  patient  art  have  gone  into  the  making  of  this 
fine  tablet,  and  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
its  various  phases,  —  growing  always  simpler, 
and  more  perfect  in  detail,  as  the  work  progressed. 
Manship  has  been  fortunate  to  know  in  advance 
exactly  where  his  great  relief  will  be  placed,  and 
has  taken  the  play  of  light  and  the  architec- 
tural environment  into  artistic  consideration.  It 
promises  to  be  a  chef-d'oeuvre,  worthy  of  the 
most  distinguished  art  collector  of  the  past  gen- 
eration, and  of  the  talented  artist  who  created  it. 


C$8] 


ELIE  NADELMAN 


T  is  still  too  early  to  predict  what 
effect  the  great  War  will  have  upon 
the  development  of  Art  in  this 
country.  Almost  immediately  after 
the  conflict  started,  dealers  who 
had  made  Paris  and  London  their 
headquarters  flocked  to  our  shores,  bringing  with 
them  their  precious  wares  and  treasures,  and 
later,  an  exodus  of  artists  started  which,  if  it 
continues,  may  be  compared  to  a  similar  flight 
from  Byzantium  to  Florence,  after  the  Turks 
occupied  Constantinople  in  the  fifteenth  century. 
The  present  convulsion  will  undoubtedly  scatter 
the  artists  and  scholars  and  all  the  accumulation 
of  learning  in  certain  European  centres,  and  these 
will  gravitate  to  peaceful  New  York,  where  they 
are  sure  of  a  hospitable  reception  and  where  they 
may  be  expected  to  give  an  immense  impetus  to 
science  and  art. 

Elie  Nadelman,  the  Polish  sculptor,  was  among 
the  first  of  these  men  to  come  to  America  after 
the  war  began,  and  his  presence  here  was  imme- 
diately felt  by  his  confreres.  He  was  born  in 
Warsaw  in  1885,  and  studied  for  a  time  in  the 

C593 


art  schools  there.  It  would  seem  that  his  early 
education  conferred  only  irritation  upon  him  and 
like  so  many  other  ambitious  students,  he  finally 
drifted  to  Paris,  where  he  remained  twelve  years. 
Nadelman  had  no  teacher  there,  but  his  residence 
witnessed  his  rise  from  a  sincere  student  into  a  self- 
taught  man  of  original  ideas,  whose  best  works 
offer  some  of  the  most  convincing  arguments  to 
those  who  are  in  search  of  propaganda  in  favor  of 
the  modern  extremists. 

Visitors  to  his  studio  are  so  astonished  at  the 
apparently  conflicting  works  which  greet  their 
eyes,  that  their  critical  faculties  are  at  first  in  a 
maze.  Beside  a  serenely  calm  mask,  on  the  lips 
of  which  a  strange  smile  lingers,  there  are  dis- 
torted figures  in  impossible  postures,  and  curious 
drawings  which,  when  examined  superficially,  show 
no  trace  of  obvious  or  delicate  beauty.  The  aver- 
age person  will  hesitate  to  laugh  at  these  gro- 
tesque works,  having  recently  heard  of  so  many 
brilliant  experimentalists  whose  creations  should 
be  approached  with  respect  and  even  reverence, 
and  if  one  understands  Russian,  Polish,  French  or 
German,  Nadelman,  who  is  always  ready  to  flame 
up  with  enthusiasm,  will  soon  convince  you  of 
the  essential  simplicity  of  his  enigmatic  designs. 
He  has  a  charming  way  of  modulating  his  causerie 
with  expressive  gestures,  and  you  quickly  sec  the 
logical  relation  of  the  geometrical  forms  to  those 
beautiful  sculptures,  which  in  the  first  flush  of 
unexpected  pleasure  arc  compared  with  Greek 
masterpieces  and  arouse  the  hope  that  here  at 


PORTRAIT  or    \   CHILD     MAIKK.ANYJ 
B\~  hhe  Nadelman 


last  we  have  a  man  who  has  found  at  least  a 
spark  of  the  buried  fire  of  the  ancients.  Nadel- 
man's  explanations  are  indeed  so  clear,  that  they 
serve  not  merely  as  a  vindication  of  his  theoretical 
drawings  and  sculptures,  but  he  even  enables  a 
layman  mentally  to  transform  the  intricate  curves 
and  shadows  into  the  subtle  play  of  light  on  his 
polished  marble,  bronze,  or  mahogany  statuettes. 
One  of  his  most  interesting  artistic  doctrines  deals 
with  the  respect  which  an  artist  owes  to  the  pecu- 
liar nature  of  the  material  in  which  he  works. 
"A  rough  stone,'*  Nadelman  says,  "will  refuse 
all  the  positions  we  may  wish  to  give  it,  if  these 
are  unsuited  to  it.  By  its  own  will,  it  falls  back 
into  the  position  that  its  shape  in  conjunction 
with  its  mass  demands.  Here  is  a  wonderful 
force,  a  life,  that  plastic  art  should  express  and 
if  this  life  of  the  material  is  not  destroyed,  but  is 
cultivated  and  enriched  by  the  artist,  it  may  ac- 
quire a  wonderful  power  of  expression  that  will 
stir  the  world."  A  piece  of  sculpture,  therefore, 
should  be  created  like  a  crystal, — physical  laws 
should  govern  its  fashioning,  and  the  more  of  art 
there  is  discoverable  in  the  work,  the  less  the  indi- 
viduality of  the  artist  becomes  apparent.  The 
curiously  interwoven  lines  of  these  drawings  which 
often  suggest  mineral  crystallization,  anticipate 
the  beauty  of  the  plastic  form  and  its  unbroken 
surface,  the  exquisite  turn  of  the  curves  is  merely 
accentuated  by  interfering  lines,  and  the  shaded 
portions  represent  the  perfect  rhythm  of  har- 
moniously balanced  masses.  The  necessity  and 


logic  of  every  stage  of  work  is  cleverly  explained 
by  the  artist  in  phrases  like  these,  and  when  he 
transfers  this  harmonious  play  of  line  and  sur- 
face from  the  drawings  to  his  stone,  wood,  or  metal, 
a  satisfying  tranquillity  and  a  delicious  serenity 
of  soul  result.  Had  he,  however,  shown  only 
drawings  or  recberches  in  sculpture,  Nadelman's 
name  would  doubtless  be  added  to  the  vague 
group  of  artists  known  as  post-impressionists, 
-  a  classification  made  hopelessly  confusing  in 
the  presence  of  his  extraordinary  portraits  and 
the  beautiful  heads,  which  for  want  of  a  better 
word  we  shall  describe  as  Hellenistic.  In  this 
connection  it  is  interesting  to  know  that  the 
Steins  who  were  among  the  first  to  praise  the  work 
of  Picasso  and  Matisse  were  also  admirers  of 
Nadelman,  and  Octave  Mirbeau,  protagonist  of 
Van  Gogh,  was  among  the  sculptor's  first  patrons. 
The  connoisseurs  just  mentioned  ardently  admire 
his  researches,  but  the  artist  himself  has  repeatedly 
told  us  that  noble  abstractions  like  "La  Mysteri- 
euse  "  are  the  flowers  of  his  achievement.  When  he 
is  more  directly  concerned  with  nature,  as  in  his 
enchanting  visions  of  fleeting  childhood,  his  task 
is  of  course  far  simpler,  and  the  result  invariably 
convincing  and  superb.  These  delightful  por- 
traits arouse  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  Often  the 
final  touches  are  made  directly  on  the  marble  from 
the  living  model  and  subtle  shadows  result  from  this 
handling  of  the  stone.  The  vigorous  yet  refined 
head  of  Francis  Nielson,  the  exquisite  delicacy 
of  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Stevenson  Scott,  the  highly 

C623 


original  and  sympathetic  study  of  Miss  Jane  Barger 
Wallach,  and  the  amazing,  soft,  all-embracing  line, 
which  begins  on  the  chest  of  the  bust  of  Mrs.  Charles 
Templeton  Crocker,  and  then  goes  on  and  on  along 
the  fine  throat,  over  the  pompadour  and  down  the 
back,  are  only  a  few  of  his  remarkable  achieve- 
ments in  portraiture.  These  force  one  to  wonder 
whether  the  gilded  "  Femme  Nue,"  —  fat  and  naive, 
-  the  strange  "Hermaphroditus,"  the  scrutinizing 
head  with  slit  eyes  and  blue  hair,  the  delicious  clowns 
and  musicians,  or  the  reclining  wooden  figure  of  a 
nude  woman,  are  primarily  intended  not  to  amuse, 
but  rather  to  crystallize  the  general  public  opinion 
about  his  work.  Most  people  are  unable  to  determine 
and  they  are  merely  exasperated  by  them.  To  us 
they  seem  like  the  vivid  expression  of  the  energies 
of  a  versatile  artist,  and  in  their  most  extravagant 
form  they  illustrate  the  subtle  remark  of  some 
critic  who  said,  that  the  peril  of  those  who  wor- 
ship nature  is  eccentricity.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  enchanting  heads  of  women  are  as  purely 
theoretical  as  the  abstruse  problems,  bearing 
the  same  relation  to  these,  that  Picasso's  recent 
realistic  works  do  to  the  earlier  cubistic  experi- 
ments. Models  are  rarely  used  directly  and  they 
are  not  more  natural  than  Nadelman's  "Horse," 
or  his  amusing  garden  piece  "Le  Promeneur." 
On  the  other  hand  they  are  not  sterile  imitations 
of  Greek  originals,  for,  although  Nadelman's 
art  undoubtedly  has  something  of  the  clear  ring 
of  the  genuine  antique,  something  of  its  universal 
beauty  and  divine  repose,  the  artist  himself  is 


not  a  neoclassicist.  He  is  working  as  an  ancient 
Greek  must  have  done,  with  the  inexhaustible 
universe,  and  not  mere  art,  for  an  inspiration,  and 
this  distinguishes  him  from  men  like  Thorwaldsen 
and  Canova.  Through  his  innate  artistic  feeling, 
incessant  observation  and  unswerving  continuity 
of  studious  effort,  he  has  evolved  rules  and  new 
ideals  which  compete  with  nature  without  copying 
her.  Self-confidence  and  daring  departures  came 
only  after  many  years  of  study,  and  therefore 
Nadelman's  contention  that  his  remotest  abstrac- 
tions are  those  closest  to  nature  must  be  seriously 
weighed. 

Nadelman's  latest  ambition  seems  to  be  to 
give  artistic  form  and  permanence  to  contempo- 
rary figures  and  costume.  The  gay  maidens  trip- 
ping like  Greek  nymphs  along  Fifth  Avenue  in 
their  tight  skirts,  the  lithe  athletic  woman  dancing 
the  tango  in  her  masculine  tailor-made  gown 
and  high-heeled  pumps,  the  overconfident  violin 
virtuoso,  the  temperamental  chamber  musicians,  the 
stout  coloratura  soprano  bursting  with  song, — these 
are  the  types  which  impress  him.  He  claims  that  if  a 
sober  appreciation  of  their  qualities  were  possible, 
they  would  already  be  recognized  as  classics  in 
their  genre,  for  when  analysed,  they  reveal  plastic 
features  essentially  the  same  as  his  beautiful 
"Reverie"  now  in  the  Detroit  Museum.  So- 
briety however  is  hardly  possible  in  the  presence 
of  these  figures,  and  on  the  occasion  of  their  recent 
appearance  in  a  miscellaneous  exhibition  of  sculp- 
tures, society  women  arc  said  to  have  broken  some 


KNEELING  DANCER 
Bronte  b\-  Elie  Nadelman 


of  them  to  pieces,  so  intense  was  the  feeling  aroused 
by  these  decently  clad  little  people,  among  many 
pseudo-classical  nudes.  Visitors  seemed  surprised 
and  shocked  to  see  la  mode  treated  plastically. 
Nadelman  was  laughed  at  when  he  insisted 
that  these  were  par  excellence  the  sculptures  of 
our  day  and  that  the  problems  he  attacked  were 
just  as  serious  as  those  handled  by  the  Greeks. 
"One  copies  nature  in  vain,"  he  cried.  Divinity 
itself  cannot  create,  let  us  say,  a  living  hackney 
horse  out  of  molten  bronze,  and  it  would  be  foolish 
for  a  mere  artist  to  try.  By  carefully  observing 
nature,  however,  a  gifted  mortal  may  produce  a 
piece  of  sculpture  which  will  suggest  the  sleekness, 
the  almost  idiotic  pride,  the  nervous  energy, 
the  power  and  the  absurdly  high  spirits  of  the  liv- 
ing animal.  A  realistic  bronze  horse  placed  be- 
side Nadelman's  original  creation  will  seem  life- 
less and  dull.  Men  and  women  are  studied  and 
treated  along  the  same  lines.  The  laws  of  harmo- 
nious proportion  in  the  construction  of  the  draped 
human  form,  can  of  course  be  applied  just  as 
artistically  to  figures  in  skirts  or  trousers,  as  they 
once  were  to  figures  in  togas.  Certain  lines  of  a 
tango  dancer  are  just  as  beautifully  balanced  and 
as  graceful  in  relation  to  each  other,  as  the  essen- 
tial lines  of  a  dancing  faun  or  Apoxyomenos,  and 
as  soon  as  this  is  realized,  the  average  amateur 
will  be  able  to  liberate  his  aesthetic  faculties 
from  old  conventions.  No  one  can  quarrel  with 
the  soundness  and  logic  of  such  theoretical  argu- 
ments, but  unfortunately  the  works  which  they 


are  intended  to  justify  seem  conceived  in  the 
spirit  of  caricature  and  not  with  the  earnestness 
which  one  associates  with  Nadelman's  animal 
forms,  portraits,  and  ideal  heads. 

It  is  almost  inevitable  to  compare  every  mod- 
ern sculptor  to  Rodin,  but  Nadelman  is  so  directly 
his  antithesis  that  it  is  more  logical  to  contrast 
him  with  the  great  Frenchman.  A  mere  glance 
at  Nadelman's  work  will  naturally  disclose  the 
fact,  that  his  ability  to  handle  such  a  vast  ara- 
besque of  human  forms  as  the  "Porte  de  I'Enfer" 
or  the  solution  of  such  a  problem  of  complicated 
ensemble  as  the  "Calais  Bourgeois,"  has  not 
yet  been  tested.  Nor  does  the  younger  artist's 
work  begin  to  display  Rodin's  wealth  of  imagina- 
tion. In  comparing  the  smaller  sculptures,  how- 
ever, the  higher  praise  does  not  always  fall  to  the 
lot  of  the  older  artist.  The  obvious  difference 
here  is  the  romantic  emotionalism  of  Rodin  as 
contrasted  with  Nadelman's  intellectual  calm  or 
his  purely  decorative  quality,  and  it  is  regrettable 
that  his  mahogany  decorations  in  low  relief,  which 
adorn  a  New  York  residence,  cannot  be  publicly 
shown.  His  work  often  suggests  a  mood  of 
musical  melancholy  but  we  do  not  find  here  the 
quivering  flesh,  the  ecstasy  of  desire,  the  grappling 
men  and  women,  the  insatiable  longing  and  force 
of  sex,  which  are  always  present  in  Rodin's  palpi- 
tating figures.  The  creatures  of  Nadelman's  fancy 
are  indeed  often  strangely  sexless.  Beaute  plas- 
tiquc,  according  to  him,  should  not  be  a  matter  of 
emotion.  A  sculptor  must  never  be  sentimental 

C66] 


/.i1  l>\   /•"/!('  Nadelman 


or  didactic.  He  may,  indeed,  arouse  your  feelings, 
—  and  Nadelman  is  often  humorous  and  even 
witty  on  occasions,  —  but  primarily,  plastic  art 
is  not  concerned  with  love  or  patriotism  or  kindred 
feelings,  and  you  find  accordingly  that  his  loftiest 
conceptions  are  almost  cold  in  their  austerity  and 
severe  simplicity.  Even  some  of  the  fine  mahog- 
any sculptures  which  have  the  advantage  of  rich 
color,  lack  the  warmth  of  living  flesh.  Nadelman 
seems  to  put  his  keen  intelligence  and  acquired 
Gallic  taste,  rather  than  native  passion,  into  his 
work.  His  art  savours  at  times  of  mathematical 
formulae  and,  like  the  work  of  the  great  Belgian, 
George  Minne,  it  is  occasionally  pure  architec- 
ture in  miniature.  If,  however,  these  are  short- 
comings, it  is  nevertheless  refreshing  to  find  a 
comparatively  young  man  with  such  strong  con- 
victions, taking  his  position,  in  spite  of  Rodin's 
supremacy  in  the  popular  mind.  The  intellectual 
note  and  aloofness  are  intensified  by  the  extraor- 
dinary high  polish  which  he  gives  to  his  sur- 
faces, and  which,  he  claims,  enables  his  works 
to  acquire  tone  without  dirt,  after  the  manner  of 
antique  marbles.  Furthermore,  some  of  these 
heads,  fixed  forever  in  marble  meditation,  display 
a  rare  delicacy,  a  kind  of  mysterious  spirituality, 
which  forever  disposes  of  those  detractors  who 
say  he  is  an  apostle  of  ugliness.  Such  works  stamp 
him  as  a  seeker  of  the  ideal,  a  speculative,  artistic 
intellect,  in  quest  of  things  immaterial,  whereas 
his  animal  forms,  like  the  "Young  Deer,"  'The 
Bull,"  the  "Stags,"  the  "Horse"  and  the  lovely 


"Swan  Fountain,"  are  notable  for  their  great  force, 
directness,  and  plastic  qualities.  Until,  however, 
he  gives  us  some  single,  supreme  incarnation  of 
all  his  powers,  it  will  not  be  possible  to  develop 
his  admirers  into  champions,  and  his  opponents 
into  that  effective  asset,  a  hostile  literary  body. 


C68] 


EDMUND  DULAC 


F  Edmund  Dulac  had  had  any  voice 
in  the  matter  he  would  have  chosen 
some  dream  city  of  the  Orient  for 
his  birthplace,  a  Persian  princess 
for  his  mother  and  an  artist  of  the 
Ming  Dynasty  for  his  father. 
These  would  have  bestowed  upon  him  racial  in- 
stincts for  the  arts  he  loves  best,  and  Dulac  is 
always  trying  to  convince  himself  and  his  friends 
that,  although  he  is  a  naturalized  Englishman, 
born  in  Toulouse,  he  is  actually  descended  from 
those  mysterious  Saracens  who  overran  the  ancient 
centre  of  Languedoc,  several  centuries  ago.  Per- 
haps his  theory  is  correct.  It  offers,  at  any  rate, 
a  simple  explanation  for  the  fact  that  besides 
being  English  and  French,  his  art  is  of  Persia, 
India,  or  China  as  the  occasion  demands,  as  well 
as  for  the  cleverness  with  which  he  can  seriously 
impersonate  an  oriental  gentleman,  and  for  the 
uncanny  way  in  which  his  pet  chow  and  Siamese 
cat  understand  him. 

Dulac  does  not  recall  a  time  when  he  did  not 
paint,  and  although  he  began,  like  the  immortal 


Aubrey  Beardsley,  as  a  musician,  his  holidays 
were  spent  copying  Japanese  prints  which  he  first 
saw  in  a  collection  brought  to  Toulouse  from  the 
East,  by  a  cultivated  merchant.  Stage  fright 
at  an  annual  conservatory  examination  ended 
his  musical  career  and  then,  conforming  to  his 
family's  wishes,  he  began  the  study  of  law  at  the 
university.  Art,  however,  meant  more  to  him 
than  codes  or  pandects,  and  in  1901,  when  he  was 
nineteen  years  old,  he  decided  to  become  a  painter. 

The  school  in  which  he  began  his  studies  was 
badly  organized,  and  the  pupils  were  left  more 
or  less  to  themselves.  Dulac  won  all  the 
school  prizes,  and  a  municipal  scholarship,  which 
though  never  paid,  served  as  an  excuse  for  going 
to  Paris  in  1903.  Arriving  at  the  capital,  he  was 
enrolled  for  six  months  at  the  Julian  Academy, 
but  he  actually  studied  there  for  only  three  or 
four  weeks.  Like  most  of  the  students  he  was 
obliged  to  earn  his  living,  and  he  began  his  pro- 
fessional career  as  an  artist  by  making  covers  and 
magazine  illustrations.  England  was  the  most 
lucrative  field  for  such  work,  and  Dulac  drifted 
to  London,  where  in  1907  a  group  of  his  water- 
color  drawings  were  used  to  illustrate  the  Arabian 
Nights.  The  instantaneous  success  of  this  book 
led  to  further  orders,  and  ever  since  he  has  been 
delighting  us  each  year  with  a  new  sheaf  of  works, 
remarkable  for  their  beauty  of  composition,  del- 
icacy of  clear,  limpid  color,  and  conciseness  of 
drawing. 

Shakespeare's  Tempest,  the  Rubaiyat,  the  Sleep- 


WATER  COLOR  DRAWING   I-OR     '  Iin:  CHKSTNI  r   HORSE" 

(A  R u ss inn  Irui r\ •  Ta lc  i 

B\  Edmund  Dulac 


ing  Beauty,  the  Tales  of  Poe  and  Hans  Christian 
Anderson,  Princess  Badoura  and  Sinbad  are  the 
principal  works  down  to  1915.  At  first,  Rackham 
was  his  rival,  one  indeed,  whose  drawing  seemed 
to  have  a  more  personal  inspiration.  Dulac's 
talents,  however,  developed  very  rapidly.  He 
soon  showed  distinctive  originality,  and  the  debt 
which  he  owed  to  the  English  artist  soon  became 
negligible.  Dulac  had  from  the  very  beginning 
fine  imaginative  powers,  and  each  group  of  draw- 
ings disclosed  greater  technical  achievements 
and  an  unsurpassed  versatility.  The  daintiest 
draughtsmanship,  a  delicious  humor,  an  amaz- 
ing feeling  for  design,  and  a  positive  genius  for 
rich  radiant  color  as  applied  to  the  pages  of  a  book, 
were  all  coupled  with  the  power  to  grasp  an 
author's  meaning,  and  to  embody  it  most  happily 
with  the  glamor  or  piquancy  which  pertained 
to  the  various  literary  works  themselves.  In- 
deed, he  has  frequently  added  a  vein  of  high 
poetry  to  the  poetic  originals.  He  should,  how- 
ever, be  regarded  not  as  an  illustrator,  but  as  an 
original  painter,  who  uses  line  merely  as  an 
accessory,  and  each  of  these  little  iridescent 
miniatures  which  seem  to  be  made  of  opal  dust 
on  mother  of  pearl,  satisfies  the  demand  which 
Delacroix  made  upon  all  paintings, -- they  are 
color  feasts  for  the  eye. 

It  may  have  been  his  friendship  with  the  cele- 
brated connoisseurs  Ricketts  and  Shannon,  that 
led  Dulac  to  a  renewed  and  closer  acquaintance 
with  those  Oriental  and  Greek  primitives,  which 


he  had  already  learned  to  love  in  his  youth,  and 
during  the  last  few  years,  he  has  been  steeping 
himself  in  Eastern  art  and  folk  lore.  These 
studies  removed  any  obstacles  to  his  further  de- 
velopment that  may  have  existed.  Persian  minia- 
tures especially  have  fascinated  him,  and  it  will 
be  noticed  that  he  has  discarded  all  attempts  at 
modelling  by  means  of  shading,  and  has  wisely 
adopted  the  eastern  convention  of  flat  colors. 
We  can  recall  only  one  other  artist,  Marcus 
Behmer,  who  can  enter  into  so  complete  a  sym- 
pathy with  oriental  subjects,  and  '  Marcotino  " 
as  the  German  artist  is  known,  does  not  possess 
Dulac's  flair  for  superb  color.  After  all,  the 
fantasies  which  Scheherazade  wove  for  her  au- 
gust lord  beside  the  scented  fountains,  need  a 
jeweled  commentator,  and  Dulac  alone  pos- 
sesses the  necessary  gifts.  The  tremendous  ad- 
vance which  his  art  has  recently  made  becomes 
obvious,  if  we  compare  the  early  paintings  for, 
let  us  say  Poe's  Tales,  with  the  more  recent  plates 
in  his  Red  Cross  gift  book.  'The  development 
should  have  been  even  more  rapid, "  Dulac  tells 
us,  "but  all  the  drawings  for  a  particular  book 
must  be  more  or  less  in  the  same  spirit  and  at 
the  same  level,  and  the  nature  of  such  work  does 
not  allow  progress  to  go  beyond  the  step  forward 
made  with  the  first  illustration  of  a  series."  In 
the  "Fairy  Book  of  the  Allies"  (1916),  however, 
each  story  means  a  new  racial  tradition  and  a 
wholly  different  inspiration,  and  the  result  is  a 
unique  commentary  on  the  artist's  resourceful- 


WATER  COLOR   DKA\VI\<,   i  OK    "Tin:   FRIAR 

(An  English  I' airy  Tale) 
Hv  Edmund  Dulac 


THE  BOY 


ness  and  wonderful  power  of  assimilation.  In 
each  painting  he  magically  develops  what  appears 
superficially  to  be  a  new  style,  peculiarly  appro- 
priate to  the  nationality  of  the  particular  story, 
but  ever  remaining  Dulac's  own.  It  would  be 
too  much  to  expect  to  find  him  guiltless  of  the 
charge  of  borrowing,  but  the  critics  who  are  not 
satisfied  unless  they  are  tracing  influences,  will 
be  faced  here  by  a  novel  problem.  Surely  no 
other  artist  has,  within  the  limits  of  a  single  volume, 
exhausted  not  only  the  hues  of  the  rainbow,  but 
so  many  regions  of  the  earth.  Japan's  rhythm 
and  refinement,  Servia's  barbaric  patterns,  the 
white  snows  and  passionate  ringing  colors  of 
Russia,  French  grace,  languorous  Italian  beauty, 
Belgian  quaintness,  and  wholesome  English  charm 
are  all  to  be  found  here.  His  surfaces  are  like 
choice  old  ivory,  and  everywhere  we  come  upon 
those  superb  azure  tonalities,  heavenly  blue  skies 
and  reflecting  waters,  which  a  wit  has  described 
as  "bleu  du  lac." 

The  production  of  the  delightful  works  par- 
tially enumerated  above  has,  however,  not  satis- 
fied Dulac's  ambition,  and  he  has  found  time  to 
wander  in  other  alluring  fields.  At  present  he 
is  making  patriotic  posters  and  he  recently  made 
excellent  cartoons  for  Gobelin  tapestries,  which 
were  sympathetically  executed  by  Leo  Belmonte, 
while  his  caricatures  and  little  statuettes  furnished 
London  with  its  most  amusing  sensation.  In 
one  of  these  caricatures  Orpen  is  seen  looking 
through  a  telescope  to  find  Glyn  Philpot,  "a  new 


star  rising  in  the  sky,"  -  and  some  one  pointed 
out  that  Dulac  might  well  have  substituted  his 
own  portrait  for  Philpot's  and  have  Max  Beer- 
bohm  occupying  Orpen's  place.  Max  has  hitherto 
been  the  only  begetter  of  such  chcfs-d'oeuvres 
but  he  will  now  have  to  look  to  his  laurels.  It 
is  quite  true  that  no  master  can  equal  Max's 

'Tennyson  reading  his  verses  to  Queen  Victoria," 
or  write  essays  like  "More."  Such  masterpieces 
have  justly  earned  him  a  claim  to  inimitability, 
but  Dulac,  though  only  a  newcomer  in  the  field, 
has  already  won  rare  triumphs.  We  are  credibly 
informed  that  when  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Mary, 
first  came  upon  the  little  figurine  of  Sir  Claude 
Phillips,  not  only  her  gravity,  but  that  of  her 
dignified  ladies  in  waiting,  was  for  an  appreciable 
space  of  time  seriously  upset.  It  is  our  national 
misfortune,  that  Charles  Ricketts,  the  owner  of 
this  priceless  possession,  would  not  permit  it,  or 
its  companion,  "Mrs.  Gibson  the  collector  of 
Conder  fans,"  to  run  submarine  risks.  For  the 
time  being,  therefore,  they  fittingly  repose  among 
the  Greek  marbles,  Leonardos,  Rodins,  Watteaus 
and  Daumicrs,  in  the  famous  studio  on  Lans- 
downe  Road.  Mr.  Edmund  Davis,  who  has 
enriched  the  Luxembourg  with  a  splendid  col- 
lection of  modern  English  art,  is  another  for- 
tunate collector.  He  owns  an  entire  group  of 
drawings  and  caricatures,  among  which  the  most 
notable  are,  "  Mestrovic  carving  the  colossal  toe  of 
some  Serbian  Hero,"  and  "Ricketts-and-Shannon," 

-  the  heavenlv  twins,  as  Robert  Ross  calls  them, 

[743 


-  in  which  Dulac  has  so  cleverly  mingled  the 
spirit  of  Indian  Art  and  English  humor.  We 
must  not  be  ungrateful,  however,  for  we  have  a 
drawing  of  the  late  Lord  Kitchener  showing  his 
passion  for  blue  china,  and  the  unapproachable 
Sargent  in  Belgravia,  among  other  good  cari- 
catures. All  of  these  are  done  from  memory, 
and  the  same  is  virtually  true  of  such  serious 
portraits  as  that  of  the  Japanese  actor  Mr.  Michio 
Itow,  and  Madame  A. 

Stage  settings  and  costumes  constitute  still 
another  departure.  Dulac  began  by  creating 
some  fantastic  rococo  designs  for  Beecham's  pro- 
duction of  Bach's  "Phoebus  and  Pan,"  in  which 
the  chorus  was  garbed  in  i8th  century  style, 
whereas  the  principals,  remarkable  for  their  bizarre 
coiffures,  appeared  in  pseudo-classical  costumes. 
This  artistic  diversion  was  followed  by  the  setting 
for  Maud  Allan  of  an  Egyptian  legend  entitled 
"Khamma,"  written  by  the  gifted  dancer  and 
W.  L.  Courtney  of  the  Fortnightly  Review,  with 
music  for  an  orchestra  of  ninety  men  by  Claude 
Debussy,  who  has  since  collaborated  in  a  similar 
way  with  Bakst.  Finally  he  has  designed  a  series 
of  masks,  settings  and  costumes  for  William 
Butler  Yeats'  symbolical  play,  entitled  "At  the 
Hawk's  Well"  or  "Waters  of  Immortality,"  a 
poetical  drama,  modelled  upon  the  Noh  stage 
tradition  of  aristocratic  Japan.  The  properties 
devised  by  Dulac  are  so  simple  that  the  actors 
can  carry  them  about  in  a  cab,  and  perform  dur- 
ing their  leisure  hours  in  any  drawing  room.  Mr. 


Yeats,  in  his  preface,  tells  us  what  a  stirring  ad- 
venture it  would  be  "for  a  poet  and  an  artist 
working  together  to  create  once  more  heroic  or 
grotesque  types,  that  keeping  always  an  appro- 
priate distance  from  life,  would  seem  images  of 
those  profound  emotions  that  exist  only  in  soli- 
tude and  in  silence."  It  would  seem  that  in  Dulac 
he  found  an  artist  who  could  not  only  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  his  poetry,  but  who  \vas  moreover 
familiar  with  the  ancient  theatrical  traditions 
of  the  Romans,  and  of  those  consummate  Japa- 
nese masters  who  hundreds  of  years  ago  moulded 
masks  for  various  types  of  tragic  character. 
"What  could  be  more  suitable,"  asks  the  poet, 
"than  that  Cuchulain,  let  us  say,  a  half  super- 
natural, legendary  person  should  show  to  us  a 
face,  not  made  before  the  looking  glass  by  some 
leading  player, -- there  too  we  have  many  quar- 
rels,— but  moulded  by  some  distinguished  artist?" 
How  well  Dulac  had  done  his  share  of  the  work 
we  could  judge  by  two  of  his  beautiful  masks 
in  his  first  American  exhibition,  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  since  Michio  Itow,  the  leading  actor 
in  the  original  cast  is  now  in  the  United  States, 
performances  of  the  play  itself  may  be  made 
possible.1  Dulac's  costumes  will  then  be  seen, 
and  it  will  clearly  be  realized  how  swiftly,  both 
in  his  work  for  the  theatre  and  in  the  exquisite 
paintings,  he  is  arriving  at  one  of  his  artistic 

1  The  play  was  given  an  interesting  performance  at  the  Green- 
wich Village  Theatre  in  June,  1918.  Itow  and  his  dancers  acted  the 
play,  while  other  performers  recited  the  lines. 


goals, —  "a  satisfactory  synthesis  for  the  com- 
munication of  Emotion  through  Character."  An- 
other aim  seems  to  be,  to  prove  his  capacity  to 
excel  in  many  media,  and  he  has  already  done 
various  things  so  successfully  and  poetically, 
that  if  he  were  to  return  to  his  native  city,  the 
judges  of  the  famous  Languedoc  Floral  Games, 
which  take  place  in  Toulouse  each  Spring  and  in 
which  only  poets  contend,  would  surely  award 
the  sprig  of  golden  amaranth  to  Edmund  Dulac. 


£773 


KAY  NIELSEN 


OR  the  many  disappointments  suf- 
fered on  a  trip  to  Copenhagen, 
the  only  compensation  offered  was 
a  memorable  visit  to  the  brilliant 
Madame  Paul  Gauguin,  —  not  Te- 
hura  of  Tahiti,  but  his  lawful 
European  widow,  who  talked  amazingly  of  her 
eccentric  husband,  while  puffing  away  at  strong 
black  cigars.  Even  she,  however,  could  give  us 
only  second-hand  information  about  the  Nielsen 
family,  to  meet  whom  we  had  made  the  trip  to 
the  Danish  capital.  Madame  Oda  Nielsen  of  the 
Royal  Theatre  had  just  finished  her  annual  engage- 
ment, the  Dagmar  Theatre  owned  and  artistically 
managed  by  Prof.  Martinius  Nielsen  was  closed 
for  the  season,  and  Kay  Nielsen,  their  gifted  son, 
was  in  London,  his  beloved  adopted  city,  where 
his  first  exhibition  had  gained  him  fame  and  honor 
in  one  Byronic  night. 

Unlike  his  grand-uncle,  Prof.  Rasmus  Nielsen, 
who  began  as  an  artist  and  ended  by  becoming 
a  celebrated  physician,  the  young  man  had  given 
up  a  medical  career  and  studied  art  in  Paris  from 
1904  to  1912  under  Jean  Paul  Laurens,  Lucien 


Till'.     \\.\K      I  .OKI) 

\\  liter  Color  Drawing  /n    /vox'  Nielsen 
Courtesy  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Templeton  Crocker 


Simon,  his  countryman  Christian  Krogh,  and  other 
conventional  teachers.  His  environment  from 
early  childhood  favored  a  rapid  artistic  develop- 
ment. His  elders  had  often  jestingly  referred  to 
him  as  the  "little  philosopher  of  the  pencil," 
and  the  originality  of  his  intellect  was  soon  rec- 
ognized alike  by  masters  and  comrades  in  the 
Latin  Quarter.  He  was  wisely  advised  to  abandon 
more  ambitious,  tedious  fields,  and  cultivate  his 
special  gifts,  and  we  find  his  originality  disclosed 
in  the  charming,  early,  autobiographical  pen-and- 
ink  drawings,  known  as  "The  Book  of  Death.'* 
Their  appeal  to  those  of  us  who  have  lived  a  bohe- 
mian  life,  is  immediate.  They  breathe  the  senti- 
ment of  youth  at  its  flowering  moment.  Here 
are  the  tears  behind  the  smiles  of  Pierrot,  his 
region  of  joyous  dreams,  his  dead  hopes  and  bitter 
loneliness,  and  the  fragrant  rose  leaves  strewn 
on  the  tomb  of  dead  love.  All  the  romantic  con- 
fessions with  which  Murger  has  made  us  familiar, 
are  treated  with  a  graceful,  vigorous,  graphic 
style  which  London  at  once  recognized  and  ap- 
plauded. The  unapproachable  greatness  of  Au- 
brey Beardsley,  the  splendors  of  Dulac  and 
Parrish,  or  the  distinct  personal  charm  of  Rackham, 
did  not  interfere  with  his  success  in  any  way, 
for  all  the  critics  realized  that  Nielsen's  talents 
were  original  and  of  a  very  unusual  kind.  The 
incisive  line  was  his  own,  and  his  fairyland  less 
sombre  than  Rackham's.  The  extremely  delicate 
and  transparent  color  left  the  drawing  to  take 
its  part  as  a  graceful  woven  pattern  more  clearly 


than  in  a  drawing  by  Dulac.  He  seemed  from 
the  very  beginning  to  be  able  to  make  an  author's 
single  phrase  the  pretext  for  delightful  landscape 
vistas  and  visions  of  delicate  beauty.  Swathed 
in  amusing  fripperies,  his  elusive  princesses,  so 
diaphanous  and  light  and  dignified,  and  so  far 
removed  from  the  common  level  of  mankind,  are 
drawn  in  just  the  right  spirit,  --not  a  single  ele- 
ment of  comedy  or  pathos  in  their  fragile  lives 
having  been  missed.  Their  singular  daintiness, 
and  their  artificial  but  attractive  grace,  are  in 
astounding  contrast  with  such  a  drawing  as  "Shad- 
ows of  Night."  Here  Nielsen  vindicates  his  right 
to  be  deemed  an  imaginative  draughtsman  of  a 
rare  order  in  the  realm  of  sinister  mystery  and  of 
the  macabre.  The  drawings  in  a  similar  vein 
of  our  own  Herbert  Crowley  are  the  only  works 
we  can  think  of  by  a  living  man,  whose  technique 
and  power  can  be  compared  with  Nielsen's  and  it 
will  be  interesting  to  follow  his  incursions  into  the 
field  of  satirical  caricature  where  he  is  rigorous  in 
the  suppression  of  certain  details.  Several  ex- 
amples inspired  by  the  Great  War  are  powerful, 
and  impressive,  although  he  does  not  indulge  in 
the  magnificent  hatreds  of  Raemaekers.  Nielsen's 
designs  ordered  by  the  Royal  Theatre  at  Copen- 
hagen, for  the  classical  Danish  dramatic  Fantasy 
"Aladdin"  by  Adam  Oehlenschlaeger,  and  some 
interesting  etchings  now  publicly  sho\vn  for  the 
iirst  time,  are  further  evidences  of  his  versatility 
and  restless  artistic  temperament.  Occasionally 
in  such  a  touching  drawing  as  the  one  which 


\\ATKK  COLOR   DK.\\VIV<;    IOK 

"EAST  oi:  'nit:  Si  x  AND  \\KST  01    nir.  MOON"" 

Bv  l\uv  Nielsen 


shows  him  as  Pierrot  hovering  over  Venice  with  a 
message  of  condolence  to  the  etcher  Albany 
Howarth,  he  still  reverts  to  his  earlier  lyrical 
strain.  We  love  him  best,  however,  as  the  illus- 
trator of  Hans  Christian  Anderson's  Tales,  for 
in  these  the  gifts  which  made  him  a  cosmopolitan 
favorite  and  celebrity  are  most  obvious.  He 
handles  with  great  skill  the  author's  most  deli- 
cious impertinences.  The  wistful  melancholy  fig- 
ures, which  recall  Heine's  bitter-sweet  philosophy, 
are  bordered  by  fascinating  filigree  work,  and 
the  exquisite  accessories  and  embroideries  merely 
accentuate  the  refinement  and  subtle  beauty  of 
the  central  figures.  Where  a  native  Scandina- 
vian accent  is  coupled  with  his  naivete  and  quaint 
humour,  as  in  the  drawings  for  "  East  of  the  Sun 
and  West  of  the  Moon,"  Nielsen  is  inimitable. 
His  most  intricate  inventions  never  seem  laboured. 
Controlled  in  a  measure  by  Norse  ornamental 
traditions,  he  reaches  an  absolute  equality  with 
the  poetical  text,  and  it  is  a  genuine  pleasure  to 
reach  the  oasis  of  a  Kay  Nielsen  picture  in  a  jour- 
ney through  the  printed  pages  of  the  book.  Some- 
times the  designs  come  into  existence  through 
all  manner  of  borrowings,  the  spoils  of  many 
altars.  Not  infrequently  he  forces  the  note  of 
the  grotesque,  or  indulges  too  freely  in  amusing 
anachronisms  and  to  this  day  there  are  details, 
like  the  dripping  candles  and  drifting  spangles, 
which  have  the  Beardsley  or  the  Conder  savour. 
At  the  same  time,  he  has  mounted  so  freely  and 
easily  into  a  realm  entirely  his  own  that  we  can 

C8O 


enthusiastically  join  the  London  and  continen- 
tal throngs  which  have  long  since  surrendered  to 
the  intensity  of  conviction  which  we  feel  in  these 
small  works. 


ALBERT  STERNER 

LBERT  STERNER'S  life  would 
lead  us  to  expect  his  art  to  be 
cosmopolitan.  He  is  an  American 
citizen,  born  in  London  in  1863 
and  educated  at  King  Edward's 
•L  school  in  Birmingham,  where 


Burne-Jones  had  been  a  pupil.  He  has  lived  for 
several  years  at  a  time  in  Munich,  Chicago,  Paris, 
and  New  York.  He  is  extremely  versatile  socially 
and  artistically,  and  on  seeing  a  collection  of  his 
work  which  displays  the  full  measure  of  his 
ability,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  one  artist 
created  it  all.  Sincerity,  fine  sentiment,  an  almost 
unique  emotional  quality,  delicacy  of  line,  and  a 
happy  mingling  of  subtlety  and  directness  are  the 
chief  characteristics  of  his  art. 

For  a  long  time  he  was  the  victim  of  his  inter- 
national fame  as  one  of  the  foremost  living  illus- 

O 

trators.  The  American  reading  public  had  been 
admiring  his  drawings  in  books  like  Curtis's 
"Prue  and  I,"  Poe's  "Tales,"  and  Mrs.  Ward's 
novels  for  so  long  a  time,  that  it  refused  to  asso- 
ciate his  name  with  any  other  form  of  artistic 


endeavor,  and  it  took  Sterner  many  years  to 
effectually  live  down  this  fine  reputation  as  an 
illustrator  and  free  himself  from  the  bond  of  the 
story-book.  And  yet  when  Sterner  was  still  a 
very  young  man,  he  had  already  done  admirable 
work  in  all  media,  save  only  the  various  forms  of 
etching  and  engraving.  Delightful  lithographs, 
interesting  oil-paintings  and  pastels,  sanguines 
and  monotypes,  stage  settings  and  stained  glass 
are  included  among  his  works. 

As  is  the  case  with  many  artists  of  a  high  order 
of  merit,  Sterner  turns  to  the  nude  to  find  the 
best  theme  for  the  embodiment  of  his  powers. 
The  truth  and  vigor  of  these  studies  are  noteworthy, 
and  they  serve  as  a  conclusive  answer  to  the  oc- 
casional charge  of  mawkish  sentimentality.  They 
express  the  entire  gamut  of  moods,  —  gaiety, 
mystery,  abandonment,  romance,  grace  of  move- 
ment, pathos,  sensuality,  violence,  brutality  even. 
What  is  equally  important,  they  arouse  emotions 
and  stir  the  imagination.  Their  beauty  is  haunt- 
ing. The  best  of  them  need  not  fear  comparison 
with  those  of  Zorn  who  admires  them.  In  each 
a  certain  note  is  sought  for,  and  when  that  is 
found  all  further  details  are  carelessly  suggested 
or  entirely  sacrificed.  These  studies  represent 
all  his  experiments  and  problems.  That  means 
a  great  deal  in  Sterner's  case,  for  he  is  never  sat- 
isfied with  imitating  what  a  successful  competitor 
or  predecessor  has  accomplished.  His  pencil  por- 
traits have  long  been  famous  and  now  he  is  en- 
thusiastically attacking  difficult  questions  in  color. 


Oake5  or 


PORTRAIT  oir  OAKI  s  AMES 
Pencil  Druu-inx  by  Albert  Sterner 


With  his  portraits  in  oil  we  are  not  especially 
concerned,  but  it  may  be  noted  that  as  far  back 
as  1891  his  "Bachelor"  received  an  honorable 
mention  in  Paris,  and  in  1905  a  life-size  portrait 
of  his  son  Harold,  standing  beside  a  wolfhound, 
received  a  gold  medal  at  Munich.  One  is  tempted 
also  to  linger  and  enthuse  over  his  fine  tempera 
painting  of  Mrs.  Sterner,  who  has  so  often  served 
as  an  inspiration  for  his  graceful  figures.  Re- 
cently he  has  completed  some  delightful  pastels 
breathing  a  wholesome,  modern  spirit.  Admir- 
able as  these  efforts  are,  however,  they  do  not 
altogether  satisfy  Sterner's  restless  artistic  nature. 
The  monotype,  a  medium  full  of  amusing  pos- 
sibilities and  surprises,  is  one  of  his  favorite 
relaxations.  Roughly  speaking,  the  process  is  the 
exact  reverse  of  painting  on  canvas.  A  polished 
zinc  plate  is  covered  with  a  fairly  even  ground  of 
oil-paint,  which  is  then  gradually  removed  or 
added  to  with  clean  brushes,  rags,  fingers,  or 
stumps,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  when  the  work  is 
finished  and  the  paint  is  still  fresh,  it  is  printed 
on  a  moistened  sheet  of  Japan  paper  by  passing 
through  a  press.  It  is  a  fluid  medium,  puts  al- 
most no  restraint  on  the  artist,  and  only  long 
practice  will  enable  him  to  realize  in  advance 
what  the  ultimate  effect  after  printing  will  be. 
The  monotypist  must  possess  dexterity,  a  fine 
sense  for  masses,  and  his  touch  must  be  sure  and 
broad  in  order  to  handle  the  medium  successfully. 
The  element  of  accident  should  play  as  little  part 
in  the  creation  of  the  finished  work  as  it  does  in 


an  etching.  It  is  a  very  flexible  process,  for  any 
changes  can  be  made  before  printing,  but  care 
must  be  taken  to  print  the  pictures  when  the  oil- 
paint  is  of  the  right  consistency.  It  is  quite  extraor- 
dinary what  charming  results,  and  what  a  variety  of 
effects  are  obtainable.  The  pure  monotype  should 
not  be  retouched,  but  Degas,  and  the  American 
etcher  Ernest  Haskell  often  used  pastel  in  connec- 
tion with  the  oil  paint,  after  the  latter  dried  on  the 
paper.  Besides  the  artists  just  mentioned,  the  late 
Louis  Loeb,  Sir  Hubert  von  Her  komer,  Augustus 
Koopman,  Ernest  Peixotto,  and  others  have  made 
experiments  with  this  medium.  Only  one  impres- 
sion can,  of  course,  be  made  from  each  plate,  and 
the  prints  are  therefore  unique.  It  can  be  easily 
understood  that  such  an  unconventional  medium 
would  exert  a  strong  fascination  on  a  talent  like 
Sterner's,  and  we  hope  that  he  may  be  tempted 
to  continue  to  produce  these  unique  works.  It 
is  still  more  important  however  that  he  should  be 
encouraged  to  stimulate  us  with  his  fine  lithographs. 
The  fact  that  Sterner  should  in  the  midst  of  a 
lifelong  fight  with  prudishness  and  commercialism, 
lay  aside  his  lucrative  pastels  and  paint-brushes 
and  set  up  a  private  press,  to  refresh  himself  by 
adding  to  his  already  creditable  list  of  lithographs, 
is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  incidents  in  the  history 
of  contemporary  American  art,  for  it  must  be 
regretfully  admitted  that  in  spite  of  the  existence 
of  masterpieces  by  Whistler,  Fantin-Latour,  Men- 
zel,  Gavarni,  Daumier,  Goya,  Legros  and  others, 
this  most  spontaneous  and  personal  form  of  ar- 


tistic  expression  does   not  enjoy  the  commercial 
popularity  that  it  deserves. 

Albert  Sterner  has  been  engaged  with  lithog- 
raphy for  almost  twenty  years,  and  when  he 
began  his  experiments,  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  have  the  advice  and  assistance  of  that  excel- 
lent printer  Lemercier,  in  Paris.  His  earliest 
successes,  however,  were  gained  in  Munich,  and 
the  manner  in  which  he  sold  his  first  prints  is 
worth  retelling.  Shortly  after  Sterner  settled  in 
the  Bavarian  capital,  the  attention  of  the  director 
of  the  Kupferstich  Kabinet  was  attracted'  by 
some  lithographs  in  the  window  of  Littauer's 
fascinating  shop  on  Odeons  Platz.  One  was  a 
seated  boy,  treated  with  such  loving  sympathy 
that  one  could  safely  conclude  it  must  be  the 
artist's  child.  Another  was  a  silvery  print  of 
an  invalid.  The  third  was  a  crisp,  brilliantly 
drawn  figure  of  an  old-fashioned  girl,  with  her  hair 
in  ringlets.  The  discriminating  director  went 
into  the  shop  and  bought  them  all  for  his  gallery, 
without  ever  having  heard  of  the  artist  who 
created  them.  In  the  same  way,  solely  on  the 
strength  of  their  rare  merits,  Sterner's  lithographs 
found  their  way  into  the  collection  of  the  Dresden 
Gallery  and  into  the  fine  private  collection  of  the 
King  of  Italy.  A  considerable  number  of  prints 
were  made  in  Munich,  but  his  success  in  other 
channels  obliged  him  to  neglect  the  lithographic 
stone  as  a  medium,  and  it  was  not  until  1912, 
after  a  successful  exhibition  in  New  York,  that 
lithography  again  engaged  his  energies.  The  pe- 


culiar  problems,  resources,  and  spirit  of  the  me- 
dium, were  exactly  suited  to  his  impetuous,  ardent 
temperament,  and  to  his  manual  dexterity.  It  is 
in  these  lyrics  on  stone  that  he  speaks  his  own 
language,  and  even  a  superficial  examination  of 
his  oeuvre  discloses  a  man  who  possesses  an  original 
point  of  view  and  an  unique  personal  vision.  Sterner 
is  not  an  artist  who  is  satisfied  with  that  success- 
ful but  uninspired  uniformity,  which  is  the  curse  of  so 
many  American  artists.  We  have  seen  him  take  up 
his  lithographic  transfer  paper  and  without  any  prep- 
aration, like  a  true  creator  in  a  fine  frenzy,  dra\v  a 
portrait,  which  was  not  merely  faithful,  but  a  poign- 
ant reading  of  character.  In  1913,  one  year  after  his 
exhibition,  he  set  up  the  "Mary holme  Press"  and  be- 
gan a  series  of  nudes  which  are  like  musical  phrases, 
symbols  of  deeply  felt  emotions.  At  that  time  he  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  charming  lithographs  of 
Charles  Conder,  the  gifted  Englishman,  and  hence- 
forth he  printed  many  of  his  subjects  in  sanguine. 
Not  all  of  these  studies  were  printed  at  his  studio, 
however,  for  Sterner,  like  every  successful  por- 
traitist, is  obliged  to  travel  a  great  deal,  and 
following  the  example  of  Whistler,  he  sought  the 
services  of  sympathetic  and  skillful  printers.  Such 
men  he  found  in  Messrs.  Grcgor  and  Leinroth 
of  the  Ketterlinus  Lithographic  Company  in 
Philadelphia,  who  had  done  successful  work  for 
PenncII.  They  furnish  fine  stones  on  which 
Sterner  is  free  to  draw  or  to  make  lithotints,  or 
they  transfer  his  drawings  deftly  from  paper  to 
the  stone.  In  the  case  of  that  beautiful  print 


Tin.  STKANX,KK 
A  Lithograph  hy  Alhcrt  Sterner 


entitled  Baiser  d'un  Ange,  the  new  offset  process 
was  used,  and  the  figures  face  the  same  way  in 
the  print  as  they  did  on  the  stone.  The  printing 
of  these  lithographs  is  done  under  the  artist's 
supervision,  and  that  elusive  quality  known  as 
personal  touch  is  always  present.  If  the  print  be 
a  large  one,  it  is  more  difficult  to  retain  this  quality 
of  the  original,  but  Sterner  has  been  remarkably 
successful  in  preserving  it,  even  in  so  large  a  litho- 
graph as  his  lovely  Dame  am  Wasser,  printed  in 
two  tones.  He  realizes  moreover  that  deteriora- 
tion takes  place  if  too  many  proofs  are  pulled  from 
a  stone,  and  he  wisely  prints  the  whole  edition  of 
a  lithograph  at  once.  If  this  is  not  done  the  deli- 
cate tones  have  a  tendency  to  grow  fainter,  and 
as  Mr.  T.  R.  Way  correctly  says,  in  speaking  of 
Whistler's  old  stones,  "the  stronger  parts  are 
apt  to  become  overstrong,  in  the  printer's  effort 
to  recover  the  weaker." 

Up  to  the  year  1916,  Sterner  has  executed  about 
fifty  lithographs,  but  many  of  these  are  merely  in 
the  nature  of  experiments,  —  eloquent  testimony 
of  his  determination  to  master  the  art  completely. 
There  are  lithotints  and  drawings  on  zinc  as  well 
as  on  paper  and  stone,  and  he  has  experimented 
with  various  inks  and  toned  papers.  Just  now  he 
is  making  a  fine  series  of  patriotic  posters  for  the 
government.  The  slightest  among  the  prints 
can  at  once  be  distinguished,  for  they  all  possess 
Sterner's  characteristic  lyric  grace,  a  quality 
which  reaches  its  highest  level  in  the  celebrated 
Amour  Mort.  The  artist  can  be  vigorous  as  well, 

C893 


and  he  is  equally  at  home  in  nude,  genre,  or  land- 
scape subjects.  What  splendid  draftsmanship  in 
the  backs  of  the  men  in  the  Mussel  Openers!  What 
dash  and  rugged  power  in  the  portrait  of  the 
sculptor  Quinn!  How  thrilling  the  blacks  in 
Finale  and  what  fine  tonal  effects  in  L'Ame 
Malade!  One  is  tempted  to  linger  over  the  ver- 
satility these  display,  and  the  range  of  their 
appeal.  Surely  prints  which  reveal  such  unchal- 
lenged gifts  will  put  an  end  to  the  collector's 
unaccountable  apathy,  and  encourage  Sterner 
and  other  artists  like  George  Bellows,  to  add  new 
items  to  the  catalogue  of  their  works. 


ROBERT  FREDERICK  BLUM 


Born  in  Cincinnati,  July  9,  1857. 
Died  at  New  York,  June  8,  1903. 

[N  an  unpublished  letter  to  a  friend 
who  was  about  to  enter  an  art 
school,  Robert  Blum  wrote  in  a 
vein  that  is  fashionable  at  this 
moment.  :<  You  know  what  I  think 
of  schools  generally  -  -  they  prove 
disastrous  to  the  majority.  I  have  come  to  look 
on  them  as  I  do  on  the  schools  where  Spencerian 
penmanship  is  taught,  — where  you  put  up  each 
letter  in  curl  papers  before  you  are  expected  to 
write  a  word.  Good  pictures  are  the  best  lessons 
you  can  get.  My  God!  When  I  think  of  the  few 
things  I  hugged  to  my  heart  and  branded  on  my 
brain  in  those  dark  days  when  I  was  struggling 
with  appalling  ignorance!  Two  pictures, — a  For- 
tuny  and  a  Boldini  at  an  exhibition  in  Cincinnati, 
and  which  I  saw  probably  three  times,  -  -  the  vol- 
ume of  Gazette  des  Beaux  Arts  in  which  cartoons  of 
Baudry's  work  were  reproduced,  and  which  I  was 
too  timid  to  go  to  see  more  often  than  once  in 
two  weeks,  --is  all  I  can  remember  of  cheering 
and  helping  me  in  that  dreadful  period  of  my  life. 
They  spoke  to  me  in  a  way  that  other  canvases 

C9O 


failed,  and  without  knowing  it  then,  I  now  realize 
that  it  was  because  they  lacked  that  certain  con- 
ventionality of  picture-making  so  apparent  in  all 
pictures.  No  sir!  I  can't  help  thinking  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  in  schools,  — 
you  are  bound  to  come  finally  to  the  point  of 
fighting  out  things  for  yourself  and  by  yourself. 
Why,  then,  not  from  the  beginning  by  looking 
and  searching  out  the  lessons  that  any  good 
picture  contains,  instead  of  having  to  do  it  after 
three  or  four  years'  schooling." 

This  extract,  quoted  because  it  throws  light 
on  his  career,  is  from  one  of  his  Japanese  letters 
written  in  March,  1891.  He  was  then  in  his 
thirty-fourth  year,  and  he  recalls  with  bitterness 
his  boyhood  days  in  Cincinnati,  where  his  training 
began  in  a  lithographic  establishment.  The  ex- 
perience gained  there  may  have  lent  that  touch 
of  lightness  which  is  essential  for  drawing  on  stone, 
and  which  characterizes  his  superb  pastels.  He 
attended  the  McMicken  Art  School  of  Design  in 
his  native  city,  and  later,  in  1876,  he  was  a  pupil 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  in 
Philadelphia.  For  all  practical  purposes,  how- 
ever, Blum  was  an  "auto-didakt,"  as  one  might 
infer  from  the  above  quotation.  After  Philadel- 
phia, with  its  International  Exposition,  Cincin- 
nati became  impossible.  He  came  to  New  York 
City  in  1879,  an(^  n^s  original  talent  was  warmly 
encouraged  by  Alexander  \V.  Drake,  in  those 
days  the  art  editor  of  Scribner's  Magazine.  In 
1880  he  was  enabled  to  make  the  first  of  many 


ffj 


A  GEISHA 

Water  Color  hy  Robert  Blum 
The  Cincinnati  Museum  Association 


annual  European  tours,  and  he  revelled  in  the 
beauties  of  Venice,  Madrid,  Toledo,  and  Seville. 
His  great  friend  and  companion  on  many  of  these 
journeys  was  William  M.  Chase,  whom  he  had 
met  in  the  charming  Gerson  home,  and  Miss 
Roof's  biography  of  Chase  is  full  of  anecdotes  of 
their  life-long  friendship,  of  which  the  Chase  por- 
trait in  the  Cincinnati  Museum  is  a  permanent 
souvenir.  In  1881  they  helped  to  decorate  a 
cabin  on  the  Belgenland,  and  in  the  following 
year  they  were  among  the  organizers  of  the  Society 
of  Painters  in  Pastel,  of  which  Blum  became 
president.  Holland  was  visited  in  1889,  and  in 
the  same  year  "The  Venetian  Lace  Makers," 
also  owned  by  the  Cincinnati  Museum,  was  ex- 
hibited at  the  Exposition  Universelle  and  was 
crowned  with  a  medal.  The  great  dream  of  his 
life  was  realized  on  June  6,  1890,  when  he  landed 
in  Japan  to  carry  out  a  commission  to  illustrate 
Sir  Edwin  Arnold's  "Japonica."  He  was  elected 
a  member  of  the  National  Academy  of  Design 
in  1892,  after  the  exhibition  of  'The  Ameya," 
now  hanging  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of 
Art.  The  "Letters  from  Japan"  appeared  in 
Scribner's  in  1893.  His  most  fam^  *s  works,  the 
two  friezes  in  old  Mendelssohn  *  were  nished 
in  1898,  and  at  the  time  ^r  "-h  T  ras  at 

work  with  A.  B.  Wenzell  i  fatal 

commission,  —  a  decorati  lew  Amster- 

dam Theater. 

These  are  the  outlin'  aaterially  suc- 

cessful and  apparently  i  ic  life.     But  to 


his  intimate  and  devoted  friends,  Robert  Blum's 
secluded  career  was  a  romance,  with  illness  and 
suffering  hanging  like  a  great  shadow  over  him, 
and  the  sensitive  artist's  dissatisfaction  with  even 
his  finest  achievements  accentuating  the  pathos. 
His  was  a  shy,  affectionate,  boyish  nature,  playful 
and  humorous,  and  it  was  with  children  that  he 
felt  most  at  home.  He  could  only  boast  amus- 
ingly of  being  a  godfather,  for  he  never  married, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  voluminous  correspondence 
he  found  time  to  make  extended  inquiries  about 
the  little  Roberts  and  Robcrtinas  named  after 
him  by  admiring  parents.  How  he  would  have 
loved  the  forest  scene  in  Barrie's  "Dear  Brutus!" 
He  was  never  too  busy  to  construct  a  balloon  or 
draw  caricatures  for  the  Bacher  and  Chase  chil- 
dren, and  the  enormous  kite  which  he  built  and 
decorated  while  at  sea  on  one  of  his  European 
voyages  while  in  Chase's  company  is  still  re- 
membered by  those  on  board.  He  entered  into 
everything  he  did, -- work  or  play, --with  an 
intensity  and  enthusiasm  which  the  Greeks  ap- 
propriately called  divine.  When  the  Mendels- 
sohn Hall  friezes  were  being  executed  he  was 
not  satisfied  with  merely  making  innumerable 
studies  from  life,  he  modeled  each  of  the  figures 
and  then  shifted  them  about  endlessly  on  an 
architectural  setting  before  he  could  arrive  at 
a  final  satisfactory  decision.  The  same  con- 
scientious care  was  given  to  the  decorations  in 
Japanese  style  of  his  beautiful  home  in  Grove 
Street,  to  the  details  of  a  magazine  article,  or  to 


the  reproduction  of  a  wash  drawing.  Reams  of 
paper  contain  his  minute  instructions  to  the 
printers  and  process  men  who  reproduced  his 
letters  from  Japan.  Small  wonder  that  his  in- 
structions were  religiously  followed.  He  won 
their  hearts  with  a  genial  humor  which  kept  crop- 
ping out  while  he  laboriously  explained  details 
to  them.  After  describing,  for  instance,  how  the 
"Begging  Priest"  (Sir  Edwin  Arnold's  "  Japonica") 
was  to  be  reproduced,  he  added:  "Had  him  here 
all  day,  and  after  getting  through  with  the  draw- 
ing he  was  asked  to  pray  for  the  safe  arrival  of 
the  picture  in  New  York,  which  he  did  fervently 
and  long  .  .  .  only  I  would  ask  as  a  favor,  to  cable 
the  word  yes  when  the  drawings  do  reach  you." 
From  the  very  beginning,  when  Blum's  Coney 
Island  drawings  were  appearing  in  1879,  some- 
thing definite  and  complete  wras  recognized  in  their 
quality.  His  best  pencil  drawings,  delicate,  deft 
and  gemlike  in  their  sharpness,  were  justly  re- 
garded as  masterly.  Every  random  stroke  dis- 
closed the  artist.  His  admiration  for  the  brilliant 
Spanish-French  school,  however,  blinded  many 
to  the  original  and  personal  note  in  his  work. 
"Blumtuny,"  he  was  chafFmgly  called.  It  is  still 
pointed  out  that  some  of  his  scintillating  Vene- 
tian canvases  may  pardonably  be  mistaken  for 
those  of  his  next  door  neighbor  Rico.  Blum, 
however,  was  no  slavish  imitator.  The  virtuos- 
ity, freshness,  and  lively  charm  of  the  men  he 
admired  showed  the  young  American  what  he 
was  after,  and  he  wisely  accepted  their  accom- 

[95] 


plishment  and  tried  to  go  further.  At  first  he 
hoped  that  Japan  would  teach  him  the  final  les- 
sons, but  he  soon  saw  his  mistake.  He  signed  his 
drawings  with  one  or  another  of  his  various 
"jitsuin,"  but  he  never  became  as  Japanese  as 
Emil  Orlik,  the  gifted  Bohemian  artist  who  was 
recently  at  work  in  the  land  of  the  cherry  blossom. 
Blum  undervalued  everything  he  did,  and  his 
discontent  is  echoed  in  all  his  letters.  "I  have 
got  away,"  he  writes,  "from  being  satisfied  as 
I  once  was  with  merely  the  impression  of  a  thing, 
and  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  am  no  more  satisfied 
Avith  the  result  of  what  I  am  now  doing."  Origi- 
nality was  to  come  from  within,  and  though  Japan 
never  taught  him  her  greatest  lessons,  she  never- 
theless gave  him  an  opportunity  to  find  himself 
in  his  pastels.  These  beautiful  interpretations 
of  the  land  he  visited  are  very  true  and  personal, 
and  it  is  well  to  restore  such  works  to  the  public 
consciousness  at  a  time  when  we  are  in  danger  of 
forgetting  that  beauty  and  art  existed  before 
Gauguin,  Van  Gogh,  or  Cezanne.  Blum  had  made 
original  pastel  sketches  in  Holland,  he  had  copied 
the  inimitable  works  of  Degas,  and  the  influence 
of  Whistler,  with  whom  he  was  intimate  in  Venice, 
cannot  be  ignored.  The  two  Americans  went 
swimming  and  sketching  together  and  used  to 
take  their  coffee  at  Florian's,  but  Blum's  original- 
ity was  only  slightly  effected.  It  may  safely 
be  claimed  that  his  Japanese  pastels  were  never 
excelled,  if  judged  purely  from  the  technical  point 
of  view  -  -  that  is  to  say,  from  the  way  in  which 


-  Q   E 


the  medium  is  handled.     With  his  little  sticks  .of 
color  he  could  make  the  flesh  of  a  Geisha  as  silken 
as  if  he  were  using  the  precious  oils  of  Bargue; 
he  could  breathe,  so  to  speak,  on  the  tinted  paper 
as  gracefully  and  as  delicately  as  Conder  had  done 
on  ivory-colored  silk;    and  he  had  the  great  But- 
terfly's taste  and  essential  skill.     Unexpected  vi- 
vacious  notes   of  brilliant   intensity   sparkle   like 
jewels  which  are  always  magically  placed,  and  the 
best  of  these  works  can  be  soberly  described  as 
delicious.     A  story  is  told  which  illustrates  this 
quality.     Once,  when  Blum  was  at  work  in  the 
old   Sherwood   studios   which   he   decorated   with 
strutting    peacocks,    Oscar    Wilde,    then    at    the 
height  of  his  celebrity,  walked  in  and  watched  the 
progress    of   the    artist.     "Blum,"    he    remarked, 
"your  exquisite  pastels  give  me  the  sensation  of 
eating  yellow  satin."     The  brilliant  aesthete  would 
have  felt  flattered  had  he  known  that  the  Japa- 
nese  who   saw    Blum   at   work   had   experienced 
virtually   the   same   original   sensation.     The   ar- 
tist tells  about  it  in  a  long  and  intensely  inter- 
esting letter  to  his  friend  Jules  Turcas,  where  he 
describes  a  day  of  his   routine  life  in  the  little 
house    on    "Being    in    Possession    of    Pleasure" 
Street   in  Tokio.     Crowds   used  to   collect  while 
Blum   made  pastels   in  the  open   air.     "After  a 
long  survey  of  both  me  and  the  work,"  he  wrote, 
"I  will  hear  them  say,  'My!'  or  'Oh!  My!'     It 
puzzled  me  at  first,  till  Miake  told  me  it  was  a  term 
they  use  in  admiration  of  a  poem,  picture,  etc., 
and  meant  literally  'good  enough  to  eat!" 

H973 


Blum's  handling  of  paint  was  not  equally  suc- 
cessful. In  the  first  place  his  technique  was  too 
strongly  reminiscent  of  the  crisp  flashing  style 
of  the  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards  whom  we  have 
already  mentioned.  Not  infrequently  a  certain 
tightness  which  he  disliked  would  creep  into 
his  finished  canvases.  The  reason  is  not  hard 
to  discover.  The  artist  disliked  the  medium. 
"Nasty,"  was  the  word  he  used,  and  a  large  paint- 
ing was  regarded  by  him  as  a  piece  of  expensive 
oil-cloth.  Nevertheless,  if  they  will  not  rank 
with  the  best  of  his  wonderful  water-colors  and 
pastels,  the  "Ameya"  and  the  paintings  once 
owned  by  Blum's  devoted  friend  and  patron, 
Alfred  Corning  Clark,  are  achievements  wrorthy 
of  respect. 

Old  Mendelssohn  Hall,  which,  alas,  had  to  be 
demolished  to  make  way  for  a  sky-scraper,  con- 
tained the  works  which  most  people  know  best, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  two  friezes  will  find 
a  permanent  and  appropriate  resting-place.  Their 
importance  in  the  history  of  American  mural 
decoration  can  certainly  not  be  over-estimated. 
These  great  canvases  display  the  patience,  char- 
acter, and  talent  of  the  man  and  much  of  his  genius. 
He  had  studied  his  problem  carefully,  and  his 
solution  was  eminently  successful  in  many  ways. 
It  is  extraordinary  that  the  note  of  joy  should 
predominate  in  the  work  and  life  of  a  man  who 
suffered  such  acute  physical  pain.  His  compo- 
sitions are  musical  and  rhythmical  in  feeling,  but 
the  thrill  of  his  smaller  things  is  absent.  His 

C983 


taste  was  perhaps  too  delicate  and  reserved  for 
work  on  such  a  colossal  scale.  The  lovely  colors 
seem  almost  evanescent,  and  the  charming  free- 
dom of  the  studies  was  often  lost  when  the 
ultimate  form  of  the  first  improvisation  was  de- 
termined upon  or  elaborated.  Many  of  the 
single  figures,  however,  possess  tender  idyllic 
grace  and  buoyancy  and  reflect  the  charm  of 
their  creator  as  nothing  else  does,  except  his 
correspondence. 

In  his  charming  letters  to  a  host  of  friends  we 
come  most  closely  into  touch  with  his  rarely 
beautiful  traits  of  character.  He  seems  to  have 
been  a  consistent  idealist,  with  nothing  mean  in 
his  make-up.  When  clever  caricatures  embellish 
the  letters  you  know  instinctively  that  they  are 
humorous  Little  sketches  inspired  merely  by  a 
genial,  witty  nature.  Friends  bound  him  to  his 
art  and  to  his  life,  and  when  the  short  span  allotted 
to  him  threatened  to  snap,  it  was  the  friends  he 
would  leave  behind  that  he  most  thought  of. 
In  far-off  Japan  he  wrould  sit  alone  before  his 
kerosene  stove  with  Merry,  his  cat,  on  his  lap,  and 
talk  to  her,  as  old  Sylvester  Bonnard  did  to  Hamil- 
car,  about  the  distant  loved  ones,  Chasey  (Chase), 
Twatty  (Twachtmann),  and  especially  about  "  Alf 
(Alfred  Corning  Clark),  the  dear  good  fellow," 
who  was  "always  doing  things  that  go  right 
plumb  to  the  bottom  of  a  fellow's  heart!"  His 
friends  always  feared  that  the  curtain  of  death 
would  fall  prematurely,  and  it  did.  There  was 
hardly  time  to  bid  him  "Sayonara." 

£99:1 


Gelebt,  —  gestrebt, 
Gerungen,  --  bezwungen, 
Gestorben,  --  umworben. 

That  is  the  epitaph  he  would  have  chosen,  — 
and  perhaps  it  will  some  day  be  engraved  on 
the  monument  which  Robert  Blum's  admirers 
hope  will  be  raised  to  his  memory. 


ioo 


JULES   PASCIN 

NLY  the  wisest  among  Americans 
in  Paris  ever  found  their  way  to 
the  Cafe  du  Dome,  and  accordingly 
it  is  not  surprising  to  find  that 
Jules  Pascin,  the  most  distinguished 
artist  in  the  group  of  young  men 
that  met  there,  was  until  recently  not  known  to 
our  dilettants.  Moreover  he  is  a  man  who  works 
to  please  himself  and  produces  the  kind  of  art 
that  arouses  the  indignation  of  the  bourgeoi- 
sie the  world  over.  It  was  therefore  an  embar- 
rassing relief  for  him  to  find  that  when  he  came 
suddenly  upon  us,  —  charmingly  simple  and  un- 
heralded, —  the  contents  of  his  portfolio  moved 
Henry  McBride  to  exclaim,  with  a  profound 
enthusiasm  not  at  all  characteristic  of  him, 
that  as  far  as  modern  art  is  concerned,  nothing 
of  greater  importance  may  happen  throughout 
a  season  than  an  exhibition  of  this  artist's  work. 

Pascin  himself  is  modest  about  his  achieve- 
ments, and  \\c  regret  that  he  has  not  brought 
along  some  of  his  more  pretentious  oil  paintings 
which  were  among  the  memorable  things  at  the 
annual  exhibitions  of  the  Berlin  Secession.  Es- 


sentiaLIy,  however,  his  is  an  intimate  art  which 
can  be  appreciated  better  in  a  private  study  than 
in  a  public  gallery,  and  he  is  very  fairly  repre- 
sented by  such  drawings  as  were  first  seen  here 
in  the  International  Exhibition  of  Modern  Art, 
and  the  Exhibition  of  Austro-Hungarian  Graphic 
Art  (1913). 

He  was  born  on  March  31,  1885,  at  Widdin, 
Bulgaria,  but  his  youth  was  spent  in  Vienna. 
Artistically  a  self-taught  man,  the  first  really 
stimulating  impulse  was  an  exhibition  of  French 
Impressionists.  Lautrec  and  Renoir  have  re- 
mained among  his  favorite  artists  ever  since. 
Before  he  became  a  professional  painter,  however, 
he  spent  some  time  at  Bucharest  with  his  father, 
who  was  a  grain  merchant.  Today  Pascin  is 
grateful  for  this  business  experience,  because  it 
liberated  him  from  the  influence  of  schools  and 
brought  him  into  contact  with  the  every-day  life 
of  the  people.  Eventually  his  witty  drawings 
came  to  the  notice  of  the  watchful  editor  of 
"Simplicissimiis,"  and  their  instant  success  in  that 
weekly  enabled  him  in  1905  to  go  to  Paris,  where 
he  resided  until  1914. 

Before  the  war  Pascin  was  one  of  a  group  of 
foreigners,  -  -  Nils  von  Dardel,  Rudolph  Grossman, 
Ernesto  de  Fiori,  Hermann  Haller,  and  others, 
-  who  sipped  their  coffee  or  liqueur  on  the  corner 
of  the  Boulevards  Raspail  and  Montparnasse, 
while  discussing  the  importance  of  a  Henri  Rous- 
seau or  Picasso.  They  were  just  starting  to  ex- 
hibit as  a  group  known  as  the  "Dome"  when  the 

C  1023 


great  war  scattered  them  to  every  corner  of 
Europe,  and  they  may  never  meet  again.  Their 
art,  which  has  almost  no  quality  in  common, 
has  merits  which  are  popularly  recognized  only 
after  years  of  propaganda.  Indeed,  Pascin's  work 
offers  the  worst  kind  of  a  stumbling  block  to  the 
layman,  for  he  chooses  types  which,  while  familiar 
to,  are  never  mentioned  by  polite  society.  The 
wings  of  his  blase  cupids  are  stained  with  the  mud 
of  the  gutter,  and  his  insolent  chauffeurs,  mon- 
strous women,  deformed  criminals,  emaciated, 
vicious  children,  uncanny  animals,  and  careless 
inmates  of  the  harem,  call  to  mind  Kraft  Ebing's 
or  Otto  Weininger's  unpleasant  theories,  and  en- 
courage the  very  pernicious  habit  of  raising  moral 
issues  which  theoretically  have  nothing  to  do 
with  an  honest  attempt  to  analyze  the  artistic 
values  of  a  painting  or  a  piece  of  sculpture.  If 
Degas  is  permitted  to  go  behind  the  stage  curtain, 
and  among  scrubwomen  for  his  inspiration,  Pas- 
cin's subject  matter  is  his  own  affair,  and  it  may 
be  argued  that  we  ought  to  feel  grateful  to  him 
for  discovering  so  much  beauty  in  ugliness.  These 
drawings,  therefore,  should  be  judged  merely  as 
the  works  of  a  piercing  observer,  an  artist  who 
gives  intense  vitality  to  everything  he  touches 
and  who  is  a  strange  mixture  of  naivete  and  ex- 
treme sophistication.  Almost  daily,  Pascin  makes 
studies  from  life,  which  may  be  recognized  by 
their  violet  color,  and  his  compositions,  while  not 
transcripts  from  nature,  call  into  existence  a 
hitherto  unexpressed  type  of  woman.  The  first 


fruits  of  his  sojourn  in  the  Southern  States  and 
among  the  negroes  of  the  West  Indies  were  also 
very  diverting.  Already  he  is  following  in  the 
footsteps  of  Lafcadio  Hearn,  and  is  discovering 
for  himself  the  peculiar  beauties  of  various  types 
of  ebon-hued  Americans.  The  delicious  humor 
which  crops  out  with  almost  every  stroke  of*  his 
pen  has  found  rare  material  here,  and  the  tropical 
landscapes  of  Cuba  and  Florida  revealed  the  mean- 
ing of  warm  color  to  him. 

Like  so  much  of  the  work  of  Forain,  Beards- 
ley,  Lautrec,  and  Rops,  the  drawings  of  Pascin 
are  often  superficially  perverse,  but  really  they 
are  powerful  satirical  caricatures.  Invariably,  too, 
we  find  a  Gallic  charm  which  has  been  traced  by 
his  German  admirers  to  Watteau.  This  lyric 
grace  is  present  in  everything  he  attempts,  even 
when  he  is  stirred  by  Cubism  and  Primitivism,  but 
he  is  not  gallant  or  piquant  in  the  elegant  and 
comparatively  innocent  eighteenth-century  sense. 
His  drawings  are  at  times  the  last  word  in  erotic 
raffmement.  Frank  Crowninshield  has  quoted  him 
as  saying  that  he  frequents  the  lupanar,  because 
it  is  the  only  unconventional  place  left  in  our  un- 
civilized world.  One  of  his  little  dishevelled  dolls, 
thrown  carelessly  on  a  chaise  longue,  can  be  as 
abandoned  and  suggestive  as  Beardsley's  Messaline, 
and  he  would  have  been  the  ideal  decorator  for 
la  maison  de  la  Comtesse  Gourdan.  His  colors 
are  those  of  fading  orchids,  and  at  times  they  are 
as  exquisite  and  delicate  as  the  bloom  on  a  Conder 
panel.  His  vision  is  fresh  and  intense,  like  a 


Ci  BAN  DRAWINGS 
B\  Jules  Pascin 


child's,  and  he  cultivates  an  apparent  immaturity, 
which  should  not  be  confounded  with  lack  of 
power.  Some  of  the  expressive  sketches  by  old 
masters  strike  the  same  peculiar  note,  and  that  may 
account  for  the  ardent  enthusiasm  which  artist 
collectors  like  Max  Klinger  and  Emil  Orlik  evince 
for  these  drawings,  and  also  for  the  annoyance 
of  those  who  are  mystified  by  the  use  which  Pas- 
cin  has  made  of  his  rare  competence. 


ALFRED  STEVENS 


ARELY  has  a  painter  had  the  good 
fortune  to  have  an  analyst  and 
critic  as  sympathetic  as  Alfred 
Stevens  found  in  Comte  Robert  de 
Montesquiou,  of  whose  slender  fig- 
ure and  famous  cane  Whistler  en- 
joyed making  symphonies  in  color  and  choice 
lithographs.  To  attempt  to  add  anything  to 
what  has  been  so  happily  written  by  that  exquisite 
Frenchman,  or  to  the  more  ambitious  and  schol- 
arly work  of  Camille  Lemonnier,  may  seem  like 
threshing  old  straw.  Stevens  however  has  not 
yet  enjoyed  the  vogue  he  deserves.  He  is  still  fre- 
quently confused  with  his  English  namesake  who 
was  the  creator  of  the  Wellington  monument,  and 
until  recently  no  exhibition  composed  solely  of 
his  pictures  had  been  held  in  England  or  America. 
Probably  no  such  opportunity  to  see  them  will 
ever  again  be  afforded,  as  the  unique  exhibition 
of  his  work  at  the  ficole  des  Beaux-Arts,  in  1900, 
to  which  the  fashionable  women  of  Paris  flocked, 
eager  to  help  honor  the  artist  who  for  half  a  cen- 
tury had  been  their  most  delicate  interpreter. 
The  occasion  itself  was  a  distinction  without  a 
precedent  for  a  living  artist,  and  a  source  of  keen 

^  LI  06  3 


C'OXSOLATION 

Painting  by  Alfred  Stevens 
Collection  oj  Mr.  I;rnest  \\  .  Longfellow 


delight  to  Stevens,  then  seventy-two  years  old. 
But  it  had  a  poignantly  pathetic  side.  Four 
years  before  the  exhibition,  Stevens  had  published 
his  "Impressions  sur  la  Peinture,"  in  which  he 
said:  "If  one  laments  the  premature  death  of  a 
painter,  one  should  also  sometimes  mourn  for 
him  who,  for  his  art,  lives  to  be  too  old."  x  The 
exhibition  furnished  conclusive  evidence  that  the 
old  master  had,  at  that  stage  of  his  career,  nothing 
new  to  say  and  that  his  powers  had  for  years  been 
on  the  wane. 

He  had  begun  by  painting  vagabonds,  historical 
pictures,  and  military  scenes,  which  were  then  in 
vogue,  and  he  had  even  painted  canvases  with  a 
moral  tendency,  preaching  sermons  powerful 
enough  to  effect  reforms  in  army  life.  It  was 
not  long,  however,  before  he  joined  in  the  reaction 
against  the  prevailing  lifeless  classicism,  and  he 
began  to  paint  those  masterly  pictures  of  fashion- 
able women  of  the  Second  Empire,  which  compare 
favorably  with  the  best  work  of  Terborch,  and 
Metzu,  and  which  entitle  Stevens  to  rank  as  the 
supreme  painter  of  la  mode  and  of  feminine  grace. 
H^lpainted  men  very  rarely. 

Fascinating  widows  consoling  one  another,  sen- 
timental wistful  girls,  careless  flirts  and  tender 
adorable  mothers,  visiting,  promenading,  solil- 
oquizing, day-dreaming,  taking  their  morning 
bath,  singing,  arranging  flowers,  or  delighting  in 

1  The  English  quotations  are  from  "Impressions  on 
Painting,"  by  Alfred  Stevens,  translated  by  Charlotte 
Adams  (New  York,  1886). 

C  107  3 


East  Indian  objets  d'art  --  these  women  of  Stevens 
are  for  the  most  part  not  conventionally  handsome. 
"Je  n'aime  pas  une  femme  que  le  capitaine  des 
hussards,  et  tout  le  monde  trouve  belle,"  he  once 
said.  "Pas  de  beaute  sans  distinction.  Amenez- 
moi  de  jolies  laides."  Was  he  not  anticipating 
Manet?  Style  and  elegance  they  possess  to  a 
degree,  although  Stevens  clothed  them  in  the 
fashion  of  their  day,  a  costume  till  then  regarded 
as  artistically  impossible.  Work  of  the  same 
genre  by  other  artists  —  like  the  talented  Con- 
stantin  Guys,  for  instance,  whom  Baudelaire 
admired  —  seems  demode  beside  his.  Helleu  has 
caught  some  of  his  charm  of  contour  and  undulat- 
ing grace,  but  the  ennobling  element  of  sumptu- 
ous color  is  missing  in  the  etcher's  work. 

Stevens  believed  in  the  importance  of  painters 
who  depict  their  own  eras  and  paint  what  they 
see.  'The  masters  of  the  eighteenth  century," 
said  he,  "are  especially  interesting  because  they 
were  thoroughly  inspired  by  the  manners  of  their 
epoch  and  interpreted  them  with  spirit."  In 
accordance  with  that  principle,  he  became  an 
indefatigable  observer  of  women  in  their  infinitely 
varied  attitudes.  They  were  for  Stevens  an  in- 
exhaustible source  of  beauty,  and  he  painted  them 
with  their  odd  turbans  and  their  flower-like  hoops, 
in  pretty  Oriental  kimonos,  rustling  silks,  or  with 
lovely  cashmere  shawls,  -  "emaux  cloisonnes  de 
laincs,"  -  marquise  umbrellas,  delicate  fans,  and 
other  piquant  accessories,  paying  discreet  visits 
in  drawing-rooms  hung  with  cretonne  or  strange 


wall-paper  and  furnished  in  the  taste  of  his  own 
day,  with  Japanese  or  Indian  cabinets,  wrought- 
iron  tables,  lacquers,  Sevres  vases,  old-fashioned 
carpets  and  pictures  in  tasseled  frames.  And 
how  wonderfully  he  could  paint  such  an  envi- 
ronment! 

Long  before  Whistler  appeared  on  the  scene, 
Stevens  invented  symphonies  and  harmonies  in 
canary  yellow,  the  sky's  own  blue,  mother-of-pearl, 
and  rose.  In  fact,  the  eccentric  American,  who 
was  his  contemporary  and  admirer,  owed  a  great 
deal  to  him  and,  we  may  add,  also  to  Albert  Moore. 
The  passion  for  Japonoiseries,  started  by  Stevens 
and  popularized  by  Braquemond  and  the  de  Gon- 
courts,  the  phraseology  of  music  which  Whistler 
applied  to  his  paintings,  the  subtle  color  schemes 
and  clever  juxtaposition  of  tones,  were  not  original 
with  the  Butterfly,  and  it  speaks  volumes  for  the 
charm  of  Stevens's  personality  that  Whistler,  al- 
though rather  jealous  of  the  Belgian's  genius,  never 
became  an  enemy.  The  butterflies  themselves 
frequently  hover  in  harmonious  pairs  on  Stevens's 
canvases  and  William  Chase  once  told  us  that 
Stevens  was  the  only  painter  praised  by  Whistler 
at  the  International  Exhibition  at  Antwerp.  Both 
men  were  great  wits  and  masters  of  pithy 
epigram,  and  the  "Ten  O'CIock"  belongs  on  a. 
shelf  with  the  "Impressions  sur  la  Peinture, " 
but  Stevens  was  more  genial  than  Whistler  and 
less  flippant.  Their  world  was  a  gay  one,  and  in 
Paris,  where  Stevens  had  a  magnificent  establish- 
ment, he  was  one  of  society's  brightest  ornaments. 

C 


Moreover,  the  fact  that  he,  a  Belgian,  had  fought 
for  France,  whereas  Monticelli,  a  Frenchman, 
had  avoided  doing  so,  added  to  his  popularity. 
The  commanding  figure  of  "Le  Beau  Sabreur" 
and  his  unquestioned  rank  as  an  artist  made  him 
welcome  everywhere.  He  knew  all  the  literary 
and  artistic  celebrities  of  his  day,  and  the  wit- 
nesses to  his  marriage  were  Delacroix  and  Dumas 
fils.  His  social  and  material  success,  however, 
did  not  in  any  way  affect  the  conscientious  care 
which  he  bestowed  on  every  detail  of  his  work. 
In  fact,  during  the  period  of  greatest  financial 
prosperity  a  constantly  growing  power  was  no- 
ticeable. His  pictures  became  less  tight,  his 
touch  lighter,  his  color  more  luminous,  his  figures 
had  greater  refinement  and  distinction.  His  scin- 
tillating works  seem,  indeed,  to  have  been  painted 
with  oils  into  which  jewels  were  powdered.  His 
style  and  perfection  remind  us  of  the  art  of  Gus- 
tave  Flaubert.  He  hated  sensations  and  illegit- 
imate artistic  methods.  "In  a  bovine  exhibi- 
tion," he  wittily  remarked,  "be  sure  that  the 
public  will  pause  by  preference  before  the  five- 
footed  ox."  He  was  intensely  modern  in  spirit 
and  feeling,  without  being  violent,  either  in  his 
art  or  thought.  A  single  seductive  figure,  a  lan- 
guid gesture,  served  to  reveal  his  mastery,  his 
solid,  unexcelled  technique.  That  the  execution 
•  of  a  fine  painting  should  be  agreeable  to  the  touch 
was  one  of  his  favorite  aphorisms,  and  curious 
theories  exist  concerning  the  manner  in  which  he 
secured  such  smoothness.  La  belle  pate,  --the 

Clio] 


charm  of  surface  and  brush-work, -- was  always 
a  matter  of  serious  concern  with  him.  These 
things  endear  him  to  artists  like  Sargent  and 
William  Chase,  who  collected  his  canvases.  He 
is  distinctly  a  painter's  painter,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  much  of  it  is  genre  painting. 

In  his  day  Stevens  was  regarded  as  a  conservative 
progressive.  He  had  inherited  wide  sympathies 
and  catholic  tastes  from  his  cultured  mother  and 
his  father,  an  ex-calvary  officer,  who  collected 
works  of  art  and  appreciated  Delacroix.  The 
whole  family  was  artistic.  One  brother,  Arthur, 
was  a  sound  critic  and  curator  of  the  late  King 
Leopold's  art  gallery.  Joseph,  another  brother, 
was  an  original  and  highly  esteemed  painter  of 
animal  life.  Stevens's  models  were  the  little 
Dutch  masters,  and  he  insisted  on  a  perfect  tech- 
nique, but  he  despised  pictures  which  seemed 
laboriously  painted.  "Quentin  Matsys,"  he  said, 
"  passed  twenty  years  in  executing  his  master- 
piece at  the  Brussels  Museum.  Nevertheless,  in 
contemplating  this  marvel  one  does  not  discern 
the  least  lassitude,  the  slightest  exhaustion." 
His  own  manipulation  of  the  brush  was  extremely 
brilliant,  and  his  surfaces  were  at  times  as  wonder- 
ful as  Holbein's  superb  enamel.  But  Stevens's 
own  ideal  did  not  blind  him  to  the  talents  of  the 
younger  progressive  artists  of  his  day.  He  de- 
fended Whistler's  "Symphony  in  White."  He 
introduced  Manet  to  the  dealers  and  encouraged 
Berthe  Morisot,  though  he  had  misgivings  about 
the  ultimate  success  of  their  school,  because  some 

Cm] 


indispensable  qualities  were  lacking,  —  chiefly  that 
impeccable  technique  which  was  his.  Before 
his  famous  class  of  women,  which  included  Sarah 
Bernhardt  and  her  gifted  sister  Jeanne,  he  mildly 
ridiculed  the  Impressionists.  Still,  he  much  pre- 
ferred their  work  to  "la  confiture  de  M.  Bou- 
guereau."  "Why  have  those  persons,"  he  asked, 
"who  imagine  they  invented  impressionism  nearly 
all  the  same  impression  before  nature?  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  contrary  should  be  the  rule."  It 
is  amusing  to  imagine  what  he  would  have  said 
of  the  post-impressionistic  deluge  with  which  we 
were  recently  threatened. 

Paul  Lambotte  draws  an  attractive  portrait  of 
Stevens  as  a  teacher,  "gaiant,  spirituel,  toujours 
beau  cavalier,  dans  sa  maturite  soignee."  Like 
other  critics  who  have  written  about  him,  Lam- 
botte draws  a  veil  over  the  last  sad  days,  when 
the  master  was  forced  under  distressing  conditions 
to  give  up  the  old  luxurious  brilliant  life  and  live 
close  to  nature.  He  then  began  to  paint  charming 
little  marines,  the  merits  of  which  are  underesti- 
mated when  contrasted  with  the  pictures  of  his 
best  period.  They  are  simple,  sincere,  direct, 
exquisite  in  color.  The  finest  ones  remind  us  of 
the  more  subtle  seascapes  of  Whistler,  and  they 
are  not  unlike  some  works  of  Boudin  and  Courbet, 
who  painted  Stevens's  portrait.  We  prefer  how- 
ever to  always  think  of  him  as  the  painter  of 
graceful  pensive  creatures  in  Japanese  gowns  or 
clouds  of  chiffon. 

In  addition  to  the   pictures  at  the   Metropoli- 


NOVELETTE 

Oil  I'uintins!  l>y  Alfred  Stevens 
Collection  of  A/r.v.  \Villiam  M.  ('base 


tan  Museum,  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts,  Worcester  Museum  and  the  Rhode  Island 
School  of  Design,  there  are  many  admirable  ex- 
amples of  Stevens's  work  in  private  American 
collections.  Mrs.  Pelouze's  portrait  of  Madame 
Bernhardt  as  a  youthful  mother,  with  her  boy 
at  play  in  the  cool  shadows  of  a  garden,  embodies 
some  of  his  best  qualities.  The  unaffected  grace 
and  unusual  refinement  of  the  divine  Sarah  in 
her  delicate  rose  tarletan,  —  the  expressive  hands, 
the  hidden  mystery  of  the  deep  wistful  eyes, 
watching  with  glowing  happiness  and  maternal 
solicitude  her  quaint  little  Maurice,  chasing 
butterflies  and  oblivious  to  any  sorrows  in  store 
for  him, --this  is  indeed  the  creation  of  "le 
savoureux  chiromancien  de  la  grace."  Mr.  Ernest 
W.  Longfellow's  magnificent  panel  "Consolation," 
imbued  with  the  tenderest  feeling  and  replete 
with  legitimate  sentiment,  is  a  variation  of  one 
of  the  painter's  favorite  themes.  The  fine  ex- 
amples in  the  Vanderbilt  collection  are  familiar  to 
visitors  at  the  Metropolitan  Museum.  Mrs.  Wil- 
liam M.  Chase's  "Novelette"  is  another  painted 
poem,  characteristic  of  the  artist  whom  Montes- 
quiou  called  "le  sonnettiste  de  la  peinture."  The 
late  Hugo  Reisinger's  "On  the  Riviera"  is  par- 
ticularly interesting,  because  in  composition  and 
rhythm  of  line  it  shows  traces  of  the  strong  Japa- 
nese influence.  Mr.  Stevenson  Scott  owns  an 
agreeable  panel  of  a  young  woman  reclining  in 
a  meadow  and  there  are  many  of  the  small  marines 
scattered  through  American  Collections. 


Although  the  works  enumerated  are  not  Stevens's 
greatest, -- these  must  be  sought  for  in  Belgium, 
-  their  allure  is  as  strong  as  that  of  many  of  the 
best  paintings  of  the  little  Dutch  Masters,  and 
we  are  fortunate  to  have  such  measures  of  his 
importance  available  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
If  our  praise  should  seem  excessive  we  can  point 
to  the  Exposition  de  Portraits  de  Femmes  (1870- 
1900)  shown  in  1907  in  the  Palais  du  Domaine  de 
Bagatelle.  Only  two  of  Stevens's  paintings  were 
there  shown  but  they  established  conclusively 
that  in  his  chosen  field  he  had  no  superior. 


JOHN   FLAXMAN 


HE  ostentatious  Johnsonian  biogra- 
phies written  at  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  and  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  centuries,  furnish 
us  with  the  thread  of  a  charming 
narrative  of  John  Flaxman's  child- 
hood. We  first  come  upon  him  as  a  pathetic 
little  figure,  sitting  among  the  huge  white  plaster 
casts  of  antique  sculpture  which  his  father  made 
at  the  Sign  of  the  Golden  Head,  on  New  Street, 
Covent  Garden.  John  Flaxman,  senior,  de- 
scended according  to  tradition  from  an  old  English 
family  that  fought  at  Naseby,  worked  for  Rou- 
biliac,  Scheemakers  and  other  artists  and  had 
opened  the  shop  six  months  after  he  left  the  city 
of  York,  where  his  invalid  boy  was  born  on  July 
6,  1755.  There  was  an  elder  son,  William,  but 
of  him  we  learn  next  to  nothing  except  that  he  too 
became  a  sculptor  and  woodcarver,  and  the  boys 
were  brought  up  by  a  stepmother  who  appears 
to  have  treated  them  very  kindly.  The  mou- 
lages  of  the  ancient  masters  wrere  their  playfellows, 
and  such  an  environment  naturally  turned  all 
their  thoughts  to  sculpture.  Visitors  and  customers, 


as  so  often  happens,  were  interested  only  in  John, 
the  precocious  sick  child,  whom  they  invariably 
discovered  modelling,  copying  medals,  or  poring 
over  the  classics.  His  future  biographer,  John 
Thomas  Smith,  the  gossipy  keeper  of  the  prints 
and  drawings  in  the  British  Museum,  met  and 
encouraged  the  boy  when  he  was  six  years  old. 
Romney,  the  distinguished  painter,  stroked  his 
locks,  evinced  an  interest  in  his  future  career,  gave 
him  sound  artistic  advice  and  offered  to  be  useful 
to  him  in  a  pecuniary  way.  Then  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Henry  Mathew,  of  Percy  Chapel,  Charlotte 
Street,  while  under  the  spell  of  Winckelmann, 
came  to  order  casts  of  Greek  sculpture,  and  dis- 
covered the  ill-shapen  weakling  on  crutches,  cough- 
ing and  reading  Latin,  and  taking  impressions 
from  seals.  Soon  afterwards,  we  hear  that  the 
rickety  lad  is  translating  Homer  with  Mrs.  Mathew 
and  is  a  centre  of  interest  to  the  witty  frequenters 
of  her  fashionable  salon  on  Rathbone  Place. 

England  was  then  enjoying  the  classical  revival 
which  Alexander  Pope's  rhymed  translation  of 
Homer  had  started,  and  Flaxman,  sitting  at  the 
knees  of  his  patroness,  made  drawings  illustrating 
favourite  passages  in  the  Iliad  and  Odyssev,  and 
secured  through  her  a  first  commission  to  execute 
some  Homeric  designs  for  a  Mr.  Crutchley  of 
Sunninghill  Park.  Too  weak  to  attend  school, 
he  managed  with  the  aid  of  such  friends  to  acquire 
the  rudiments  of  a  good  education,  and  at  the  age 
of  thirteen  his  model  in  clay  won  the  first  prize, 
a  gold  "pallctt,"  offered  by  the  Society  of  Arts, 


a  success  which  was  repeated  in  the  following  year 
with  a  basso-relievo.  Thereafter  he  was  a  fre- 
quent exhibitor  at  the  Free  Society  of  Artists  in 
Pall  Mall,  and  at  the  Royal  Academy,  which  had 
awarded  him  a  pupil's  Silver  Medal  designed  by 
Cipriani,  "for  a  model  of  an  Academy  figure," 
in  1769.  He  was  not  studying  with  any  partic- 
ular master  at  the  Academy  schools,  and  when  it 
came  to  a  competition  for  the  gold  medal  in  1772, 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  bestowed  it  on  a  pupil  who 
did  nothing  of  importance  in  his  later  career  to 
justify  the  president's  choice.  This  reverse  in- 
furiated the  rather  conceited  lad,  but  otherwise 
it  had  a  salutary  effect  upon  his  character.  The 
adulation  of  such  distinguished  women  as  Mrs. 
Barbauld,  Mrs.  Montagu  and  Mrs.  Chapone, 
who  came  to  Mrs.  Mathew's  reunions,  was  a 
dangerous  experience  for  a  feeble  child.  As  he 
grew  older,  however,  his  health  mended,  his  hobble 
disappeared  and,  although  he  was  never  fitted  for 
games  or  violent  forms  of  exercise,  he  developed 
a  certain  alert  manner  and  ruggedness  of  char- 
acter, without  losing  that  winning,  gentle  manner 
which  won  everybody's  liking  and  respect.  At 
about  this  time  he  met  Thomas  Bentley,  who 
recognized  his  talents  and  in  turn  introduced  him 
to  his  partner,  Josiah  Wedgwood.  When  his 
father  moved  the  shop  to  No.  420  on  the  Strand 
in  the  year  1775,  we  find  young  Flaxman  work- 
ing regularly  for  the  famous  English  potter.  Wil- 
liam Blake,  two  years  his  junior,  and  Thomas 
Stothard  were  his  bosom  friends  at  the  time,  and 


together  they  frequented  the  "most  agreeable  con- 
versaziones" in  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  virtu- 
ous Aspasias  whom  we  have  already  mentioned. 
In  1782  Flaxman  married  the  admirable,  if  sen- 
tentious Miss  Anne  Denman,  and  the  famous 
prophecy  of  Sir  Joshua,  that  Flaxman  had  ruined 
himself  as  an  artist  when  he  became  a  benedict, 
was  among  the  fe\v  rebuffs  which  he  ever  suffered. 
"For  a  moment,"  writes  the  quaint  and  not  alto- 
gether authoritative  Allan  Cunningham,  "a  cloud 
hung  on  Flaxman's  brow,  but  this  worthy  couple 
understood  each  other  too  well  to  have  their 
happiness  seriously  marred  by  the  unguarded 
and  peevish  remark  of  a  wealthy  old  bachelor." 
Mrs.  Flaxman  proved  on  the  contrary  to  be  an 
ideal  helpmate  and  a  devoted,  inspiring  compan- 
ion. Her  husband's  modest  income  at  the  time 
was  increased  by  working  as  a  collector  of  the 
rates  and  they  lived  frugally  at  27  Wardour  Street. 
Around  their  simple  hearth  there  gathered  a  few 
choice  friends, —  among  others  the  wealthy  squire 
and  poet,  Thomas  Hayley,  who  was  to  become 
the  biographer  of  Romney,  and  the  patron  of 
Blake.  This  rather  maudlin  writer's  pretensions 
to  connoisseurship  were  quite  shallow,  but  he  was 
a  generous  man  and,  having  conceived  a  strong 
attachment  for  the  Flaxmans,  he  invited  them  to 
spend  their  summers  at  Eartham,  in  Sussex,  where 
Romney  and  Flaxman  decorated  certain  rooms  of 
his  villa,  and  Blake  was  given  boring  commissions 
to  make  engravings  for  his  patron's  books.  Wedg- 
wood, who  at  first  disliked  Flaxman,  also  be- 


friended  him  during  these  first  years  of  married 
life,  and  in  1787  he  advanced  funds  which  enabled 
the  couple  to  make  an  exhilarating  pilgrimage  to 
Italy,  where  Flaxman  was  to  superintend  the 
work  of  the  potter's  other  modellers  and  draughts- 
men. Wedgwood's  opinion  of  his  chief  designer 
had  materially  altered,  and  there  is  a  water-colour 
sketch  of  Flaxman  by  Jackson  in  the  collection  of 
Lord  Leverhulme,  accompanied  by  the  following 
note,  couched  in  terms  of  never-failing  eighteenth- 
century  courtesy:  "Mr.  Wedgwood  presents  his 
compliments  to  Mrs.  Flaxman  and  has  the  honour 
to  present  her  with  the  portrait  of  the  first  artist 
of  the  age,  which,  from  her  knowledge  of  his  many 
other  good  qualities,  he  flatters  himself  will  be 
favourably  received." 

The  tour  of  the  happy  pair  closed  the  first 
period  of  Flaxman's  career.  He  was  already 
recognized  as  a  distinguished  sculptor,  but  chiefly 
by  reason  of  his  connection  with  the  great  Staf- 
fordshire potter,  for  whom  he  continued  working 
regardless  of  the  current  studio  opinion  that  he 
was  degrading  his  talent  by  working  for  a  trades- 
man. His  intuition  for  elegant  movement,  his 
incontestable  charm  and  delicacy,  were  peculiarly 
suited  to  Wedgwood's  needs,  but  it  is  probable 
that  these  minute  finikin  labours  crippled  his 
powers  when  he  attempted  heroic  groups.  Flax- 
man spent  seven  idyllic  years  with  his  wife  in 
the  Eternal  City,  and  made  his  abode  most  ap- 
propriately on  the  Via  Felice,  but,  instead  of  seek- 
ing the  solitude  which  most  young  artists  regard 

" 


as  an  essential  condition  for  serious  work,  all 
strangers  of  distinction  who  passed  through  Rome 
from  time  to  time  were  rather  magnificently  re- 
ceived by  him.  Naturally,  the  most  profound 
study  was  no  longer  possible  in  the  brilliant 
milieu  which  Flaxman  thus  created,  but  his  work 
was  nevertheless  a  great  advance  on  the  extrava- 
gances of  NoIIekens,  Gibson,  and  other  pseudo- 
classical  rivals.  His  detractors  claimed  that  he 
owed  his  popularity  to  his  manner  of  living  rather 
than  to  the  quality  of  his  work,  but,  in  place  of 
the  popular  mannerisms  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, he  undoubtedly  substituted  a  loftier,  purer 
style,  founded  on  the  sound  aesthetic  principles 
which  Winckelmann  had  rediscovered.  He  copied 
fine  antiques  like  the  Borghese  vase,  and  his 
note-books  and  journals  are  filled  with  preg- 
nant criticisms,  and  give  ample  evidence  of  his 
zealous  interest  not  only  in  Greek  art,  but  also  in 
the  Renaissance  and  the  then  despised  Gothic. 
Many  of  his  Roman  groups  were  nobly  con- 
ceived but  their  life  waned  when  Flaxman's 
artisans  began  to  finish  them  in  marble.  It  was 
a  point  of  scrupulous  honour  with  him  to  com- 
plete his  work  on  time  and  it  was  physically  im- 
possible to  devote  sufficient  care  and  thought 
to  each  group,  especially  when  some  of  these  were 
colossal  in  size. 

In  two  fields,  however,  Flaxman  achieved  last- 
ing and  notable  successes.  These  were  the  me- 
morial tombstones,  --  an  art  form  favoured  by 
Flaxman's  Anglicanism,  —  and  the  marvelously 


fine  drawings.  On  the  reliefs,  he  symbolised 
without  triteness  the  homely  Christian  virtues 
and  themes  like  sorrow,  maternal  tenderness, 
consolation  or  tranquil  piety.  Flaxman's  embodi- 
ments bear  testimony  to  his  devotional  tendency 
and  combine  classical  feeling  and  genuine  pathos 
in  a  rare  degree.  Though  frequently  slightly 
mannered,  Canova,  his  generous  rival  and  ad- 
mirer, thought  they  excelled  all  other  contempo- 
rary sculptures.  Their  clarity  and  purity  remind 
one  of  the  lyric  compositions  of  Mendelssohn, 
and  through  such  threnodies  in  stone,  which 
fill  the  churches  of  England,  and  the  amazingly 
beautiful  drawings,  may  be  traced  Flaxman's 
lasting  impression  on  English  art.  Had  his  man- 
ual dexterity  and  power  of  execution  in  marble 
equalled  his  pure  sentiment  and  the  nobility  of 
his  conceptions,  as  displayed  in  such  original 
clay  models  as  are  preserved  in  the  Flaxman  Gal- 
lery of  University  College,  Flaxman's  renown 
as  a  sculptor  would  have  been  greatly  enhanced. 
While  executing  his  marble  sculptures,  Flax- 
man turned  as  a  relaxation  to  his  childish  amuse- 
ment of  illustrating.  His  most  important  series 
of  designs  are  the  thirty-nine  drawings  illustrat- 
ing the  Iliad  and  thirty-four  for  the  Odyssey, 
commissioned  by  Mrs.  Hare  Naylor,  about  thirty- 
six  drawings  inspired  by  the  tragedies  of  /Eschy- 
lus  made  for  the  Dowager  Countess  Spencer, 
who  paid  a  guinea  apiece  for  them,  and  the  draw- 
ings, illustrating  Dante's  Divine  Comedy  executed 
for  Thomas  Hope.  These  facile,  unpretentious 

C  121;] 


works  are  naturally  of  varying  degrees  of  beauty, 
and  frequently  the  artist  not  only  interpreted  a 
passage  in  two  or  three  ways,  but  made  important 
final  changes  while  the  approved  drawing  was 
being  engraved.  The  plates  soon  achieved  a 
world-wide  success,  became  familiar  to  all  stu- 
dents through  the  engravings  of  Pilori,  Blake,  and 
others,  and  were  published  almost  simultaneously 
in  England,  France,  and  Germany.  The  Homer 
first  appeared  in  1791,  the  .^Eschylus  in  1794 
and  the  Dante  in  1806,  but  all  have  been  fre- 
quently reprinted.  Thomas  Pilori,  an  Italian, 
the  most  popular  engraver  of  the  time,  did  most 
of  the  work  of  interpretation.  His  name  carried 
weight  with  the  public  and  his  plates  were  even 
shipped  to  England  for  publication,  but  the 
Odyssey  plates  were  lost  at  sea,  and  William 
Blake,  who  hated  the  task,  had  to  hastily  make  a 
new  set  of  temporary  engravings  at  five  guineas 
each  for  the  first  English  edition,  to  take  their 
place.  Blake's  style  was  not  as  suave  as  the 
Italian's,  but  the  fact  is  that  all  the  engravers 
who  intervened  between  the  conceptions  of  the 
artist  and  his  own  expression,  fell  far  short  of 
the  delightful  originals,  as  may  readily  be  seen 
by  comparing  the  drawing  and  engraving  of  any 
particular  design.  Flaxman  had  a  genuine  flair 
for  ringing  the  finest  shades  of  sentiment  out  of 
the  slightest  Homeric  episode  and  when  we  turn 
the  pages  of  one  of  the  engraved  folios  in  the  dim 
shadows  of  a  library,  our  commonplaces  dis- 
appear and  we  join  the  assemblies  of  the  radiant 


gods  on  Olympus,  follow  the  fortunes  of  the 
glorious  heroes  of  Troy,  mingle  with  the  graceful 
companions  of  Nausicaa,  mourn  with  Achilles 
over  the  body  of  the  youthful  Patroclus  or  sail 
the  perilous  seas  with  crafty  Ulysses.  The  pellu- 
cid beauty  of  the  drawings  is  never  meretricious. 
The  lovely  draperies  with  their  slender  folds,  the 
subtly  ordered  combinations  of  figures,  the  econ- 
omy of  means  employed,  the  Hellenic  severity 
tempered  by  Flaxman's  rare  sweetness,  —  all  these 
elements  recall  the  highest  periods  of  art,  whereas 
the  union  of  noble  tenderness  and  dignified  reti- 
cence exactly  suited  the  temper  of  the  sculp- 
tor's era.  Amateurs  were  delighted  with  them, 
and  it  is  to  these  drawings  that  the  entire  English 
school  of  sentimentalists,  from  Angelica  Kauff- 
mann  downwards,  may  be  traced.  A  fine  spiritual- 
ity seems  to  lurk  about  the  works,  and  when  they 
reached  Romney  he  wrote  quite  soberly  to  their 
common  friend  Hayley :  "  I  have  seen  the  book 
of  prints  for  the  Odyssey  by  our  dear  and  admir- 
able artist  Flaxman.  They  are  simple,  grand  and 
pure;  I  may  say  with  truth,  very  fine.  They 
look  as  if  they  had  been  made  in  the  age  when 
Homer  wrote."  Later  when  the  morose  painter 
heard  that  Flaxman  was  returning  from  Rome, 
he  again  wrote  to  their  patron:  'Though  he  is 
not  here  in  person,  I  have  caught  a  portion  of  his 
soul  from  the  beautiful  images  of  his  Homer  and 
Dante.  I  am  charmed  with  them;  they  have 
thrown  a  light  upon  my  mind  that  has  dissipated 
some  of  its  thick  gloom."  The  talented  Fuseli, 


who  had  charge  of  the  Royal  Academy  collec- 
tions, declared  himself  outdone,  and  Canova 
extolled  them.  Lord  Byron,  speaking  of  the  Dante 
drawings,  said  that  Flaxman's  designs  consti- 
tuted the  best  translation  of  the  Italian  poet's 
work,  and  the  ponderous  philosopher  Schlegel, 
chief  among  German  critics  of  the  time,  also 
lauded  the  drawings  in  his  most  vehement  Teu- 
tonic manner.  In  after  years,  when  he  was  the 
artistic  oracle  of  fashionable  London,  Flaxman  as- 
sured his  auditors  that  the  most  successful  of  his 
figures  displayed  in  his  illustrations  of  Homer, 
^Eschylus  and  Dante  were  procured  from  inno- 
cent street  vagrants  and  similarly  natural  and 
unsophisticated  sources.  The  drawings  are,  in- 
deed, instinct  with  inspiration  and  animation 
which  only  nature  can  give,  but  he  carefully 
studied  classic  models  as  well.  The  designs  have 
the  inexhaustible  gift  of  suggestion  that  the  old 
vase  drawings  can  boast  of,  but  although  he  made 
their  beauties  his  own,  and  his  designs  are  archseo- 
logically  correct,  they  are  never  mere  pastiches 
of  Greek  originals.  He  handles  this  antique 
world  in  a  wonderfully  penetrative  way,  as  though 
he  enjoyed  some  subtle  affinity  with  Hellenism, 
and  all  the  works  are  characterized  by  a  serene 
vigour  and  placid  elegance  which  easily  justify 
their  universal  celebrity.  Side  by  side  with  the 
Greek  designs  mentioned,  his  supple  talent  fol- 
lowed the  various  stages  of  the  celestial  voyage 
of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim,  and  there  are  three  drawings 
for  Cowper's  translation  of  Milton's  Latin  poems 

L  124:1 


(1810),  another  light  amusing  set  of  ten  for  a 
Chinese  tale,  The  Casket  (1812),  forty  drawings  for 
Sotheby's  translation  of  Oberon,  and  thirty-six  fine 
designs  inspired  by  Hesiod,  successfully  engraved 
by  William  Blake  in  1817.  On  October  2,  1796, 
his  wife's  birthday,  he  presented  her  with  forty 
outline  drawings.  These  illustrate  a  poem  of  his 
own  entitled,  The  Knight  oj  the  Blazing  Cross,  and 
are  now  in  the  Fitzwilliam  Museum,  Cambridge. 

We  in  America  have  at  length  a  representative 
group  of  these  delightful  works,  hitherto  acces- 
sible to  European  students  only.  All  are  from 
the  collection  of  Thomas  Hope  (1770-1831)  for 
whom  Flaxman  made  his  marble  group,  "Cepha- 
lus  and  Aurora,"  and  Benjamin  West  painted  some 
of  his  classical  pictures  like  the  charming  ''Narcis- 
sus and  Echo."  Hope  was  a  talented  amateur, 
belonged  to  an  enormously  rich  family  of  Dutch 
merchants  and  settled  in  England  in  1796,  when 
the  French  occupied  Holland.  After  he  had 
made  extensive  travels  incident  to  his  study  of 
architecture,  he  spent  his  fortune  encouraging 
contemporary  art  and  collecting  sculpture,  Italian 
pictures,  and  antique  vases.  These  he  placed  in 
his  mansion  at  Dcepdene  near  Dorking,  in  Sur- 
rey, and  the  house  became  a  point  of  pilgrimage 
for  classical  students.  His  own  talents  as  an 
architect  were  of  no  mean  order,  and  besides  his 
work  on  the  "Costume  of  the  Ancients"  and 
contributions  to  the  art  of  Interior  Decoration, 
he  was  the  anonymous  author  of  "Anastasius, 
or  Memoirs  of  a  Greek,  written  at  the  close  of 

C  1253 


the  eighteenth  century,"  and  published  in  1819. 
This  book  enjoyed  such  a  great  vogue  that  Hope's 
bitter  enemy  Lord  Byron,  to  whom  it  was  attrib- 
uted, confessed  to  the  Countess  of  Blessington 
that  he  was  moved  to  tears  on  reading  it,  for  two 
reasons,  —  one  that  he  had  not  written  it,  and  the 
other  that  Hope  had.  Sydney  Smith,  too,  was 
amazed  that  "the  man  of  chairs  and  tables,  the 
gentleman  of  sofas"  could  pen  descriptions  "not 
unworthy  of  Tacitus  and  not  excelled  by  Byron." 
Hope's  collections  were  recently  scattered,  and 
some  of  the  choicest  Greek  vases,  paintings,  and 
drawings  have  found  their  way  into  our  museums 
and  private  collections.1 

While  the  merits  of  the  drawings  of  Flaxman 
were  highly  appreciated  as  soon  as  they  made 
their  appearance  in  weak  engraved  form,  their 
unique  importance  and  influence  have  not  been 
adequately  studied  or  commented  upon.  Meier- 
Graefe,  one  of  the  best  of  contemporary  critics, 
seems  to  have  felt  their  power,  for  he  places  them 
on  a  level  beyond  the  reach  of  William  Blake. 
"It  is  difficult  to  understand,"  he  asserts,  "why 
the  strange  nimbus  that  encircles  Blake  should 
have  been  conferred  upon  him  rather  than  upon 
his  compatriot  Flaxman.  Some  of  Flaxman's 
outline  drawings  illustrating  Dante  seem  to  me 
more  valuable  than  all  Blake's  illustrations  put 
together."  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  true  that 

1  The  Art  Institute  of  Chicago,  which  already  possessed 
a  famous  collection  of  old  Wedgwood,  acquired  a  fine  group 
of  the  drawings  from  the  Hope  collection. 


Blake's  vigorous  genius  undoubtedly  affected  Flax- 
man,  who  extolled  the  mystical  drawings,  claimed 
that  they  were  equal  to  those  of  Michael  Angelo, 
and  added  that  "his  poems  are  as  grand  as  his 
pictures."  When  Gary,  the  translator  of  Dante, 
referred  slightingly  to  Blake's  powers,  Flaxman 
was  deeply  offended.  Touched  by  the  quality 
of  his  friend's  poetical  gifts,  Flaxman  began  early 
to  show  his  generous,  kindly  attitude  by  coun- 
selling the  publication  in  1783  of  that  excessively 
rare  octavo  volume,  "Poetical  Sketches  by  W.  B." 
and  after  joining  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mathew  in  the 
expense,  they  presented  the  entire  edition  to  the 
poet,  to  dispose  of  to  his  own  advantage.  Flax- 
man may  also  have  introduced  Blake  to  Wedg- 
wood, for  whom  he  engraved  a  show  list  of  the 
potter's  productions,  and  then  he  secured  for  him 
the  patronage  of  Hayley.  In  1800  Blake  was 
persuaded  to  take  up  his  residence  with  that 
writer  in  Sussex  and  to  make  engravings  for  his 
Life  of  Cowper.  He  was  at  first  extravagant  in 
recognition  of  his  indebtedness,  addressing  a 
charming  poem  to  Airs.  Flaxman,  and  repeatedly 
wrote  letters  to  his  "dear  sculptor  of  Eternity," 
and  "sublime  archangel."  A  poem  dated  Sep- 
tember 12,  1800,  published  in  Sampson's  fine 
variorum  edition,  is  addressed: 

14  To  my  Dearest  Friend  John  Flaxman  These 
Lines: 

I  bless  thee,  O  Father  of  Heaven  and  Earth! 
that  ever  I  saw  Flaxman's  face. 


Angels  stand  round  my  spirit  in  Heaven,  the 
blessed  of  Heaven  are  my  friends  upon  Earth. 

When  Flaxman  was  taken  to  Italy,  Fuseli  was 
given  to  me  for  a  Season. 

And  now  Flaxman  hath  given  me  Hay  ley,  his 
friend,  to  be  mine  —  such  my  lot  upon  Earth." 

Secretly,  however,  he  despised  both  Flaxman 
and  his  host  Hayley,  who  was  really  sensitive 
to  the  originality  of  Blake's  talents,  and  in  the 
famous  Rossetti  manuscript,  owned  by  Mr.  W. 
A.  White  of  Brooklyn,  are  found  many  effusions 
like  the  following  couplet: 

"My  title  as  a  genius  thus  is  proved  - 
Not  praised  by  Hayley,  nor  by  Flaxman  loved." 

His  strange  nature  forgot  every  kindness.  It 
galled  him  to  observe  careers  like  Flaxman's,  the 
success  and  harmony  of  which  nothing  seemed 
ever  to  mar.  Nor  could  his  wild  spirit  brook 
Hayley's  conventional  banalities  and,  after  a 
residence  of  three  years  at  Eartham,  he  broke  off 
all  relations  with  the  writer  rather  than  offer  his 
genius  to  serve  such  offices.  An  account  of  the 
social  relations  of  these  three  men  would  make  a 
fascinating  study  of  the  artistic  temperament,  but 
we  are  immediately  concerned  only  with  the  very 
real  artistic  debt  which  Flaxman  and  Blake  owed 
one  another.  Blake  in  the  Rossetti  manuscript 
wrote:  "Flaxman  cannot  deny  that  one  of  the 
very  first  monuments  he  did  I  gratuitously  de- 
signed for  him,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was 


blasting  my  character  to  Macklin,  my  employer, 
as  Macklin  told  me  at  the  time.  How  much  of 
his  Homer  and  Dante  he  will  allow  to  be  mine 
I  do  not  know,  as  he  went  far  enough  off  to  pub- 
lish them,  even  to  Italy,  but  the  public  will  know." 
Students  will  recall  that  Linnell,  who  in  1818 
became  Blake's  chief  friend  and  disciple,  com- 
missioned the  artist  to  execute  a  set  of  designs 
for  Dante,  and  that  work  on  these  was  begun 
about  the  year  1821,  more  than  fifteen  years  after 
Flaxman's  designs  had  become  familiar  to  the 
public.  Even  laying  aside  such  evidence  how- 
ever, we  have  only  to  compare  the  earlier  and 
cruder,  if  more  powerful  drawings  of  Blake, 
with  those  made  after  he  had  engraved  some  of 
Flaxman's  designs  to  recognize  his  debt  to  the 
sculptor.  Flaxman's  rather  soothing  influence 
may  not  always  have  been  for  the  better,  but 
Blake  could  not  have  missed  the  monumental 
symmetry,  the  gem-like  purity  and  simplicity  of 
his  friend's  drawings.  Flaxman  was  an  expo- 
nent of  mild  rapture  and  innocence  and  only  rarely 
of  horror  or  passion.  He  seized  upon  the  homely 
domestic  virtues,  the  joys  of  kinship  or  the  pain 
of  loss,  and  expressed  these  in  large  abstract 
forms  with  the  greatest  variety  and  ever-increas- 
ing profundity,  making  the  beauty  of  the  gestures 
permanent  and  universal  in  appeal.  Romney, 
as  we  have  seen,  succumbed  to  their  charms  and 
Lawrence's  Homeric  drawings,  now  scattered 
through  American  collections,  show  that  he  too 
had  familiarized  himself  with  their  staid  and 

£129:1 


quiet  loveliness.  His  strength  did  not  lie  in  the 
field  of  violent  emotion,  and  his  giants,  demons 
and  furies,  as  compared  with  Blake's,  are  gently 
reassuring  in  spite  of  their  fearsome  visages.  An 
unique  sentiment,  using  the  word  in  the  finest 
sense,  was  the  mainspring  of  his  fertile  art.  His 
science,  taste,  and  thorough  training  made  him  a 
master  of  the  human  form  treated  abstractly, 
but  he  had  the  defects  of  his  good  qualities,  and 
only  the  captious  critic  will  contrast  his  spon- 
taneous flow  of  invention,  superb  technical  beauty, 
infinite  grace,  clarity,  and  harmony,  with  Blake's 
childish  extravagant  genius,  mysticism,  unpol- 
ished directness  and  his  tremendous  conceptions. 
Flaxman's  drawings  place  him  on  a  level  with  the 
most  consummate  draughtsmen  of  all  times, 
whereas  Blake's  unparalleled  imagination  was 
in  rebellion  against  and  crippled  his  technical 
power. 

We  have  noted  that  in  Germany  the  praise  of 
Schlegel  coupled  with  the  interest  aroused  by 
Winckelmann  in  matters  Hellenistic  made  Flax- 
man  immensely  popular,  and  the  influence  which 
his  drawings  exerted  on  Continental  art  is  clearly 
traceable.  In  France,  although  the  art  of  Eng- 
land was  at  that  time  despised,  Flaxman  was 
described  as  the  "merveilleux  evocateur  des  chants 
homeriques"  but  the  debt  of  that  country  to 
Flaxman  has  only  recently  begun  to  be  recog- 
nized. When  Flaxman  went  to  Paris  with  Ben- 
jamin West  in  1802  after  the  peace  of  Amiens, 
to  view  Napoleon's  precious  spoils,  he  stiffly 

C  130.1 


declined  any  interchange  of  civilities  and  cour- 
tesies with  the  French  artists,  who  in  Flaxman's 
opinion  were  instrumental  and  responsible  for 
the  ransacking  of  Italy.  Religion  was  a  living 
principle  with  him,  influencing  not  only  his  life 
but  his  work.  "The  Reverend  John  Flaxman" 
he  was  jestingly  called  by  the  obstreperous  Fuseli, 
and  the  epithet  was  a  happy  one,  for  Flaxman, 
like  a  rigid  Puritan,  held  immorality  in  absolute 
horror,  and  would  never  excuse  or  condone  it 
on  the  ground  of  the  brilliance  or  cleverness  of  the 
artistic  sinner.  Just  as  his  Bacchanales  were  not 
religious  frenzies  but  merely  patriarchal  cere- 
monies, psalms  and  hymns  in  stone,  so  his  political 
conduct  was  maintained  consistently  with  moral 
principles  which  compelled  him  to  refuse  to  meet 
the  Emperor  or  his  official  painter,  David,  whom 
he  had  condemned  in  an  open  letter  dated  1797. 
All  regicides  and  atheists  were  avoided  and  the 
palm  of  beauty  was  awarded  to  the  incomparable 
Ingres.  It  was  probably  on  the  strength  of 
Flaxman's  influential  expression  of  opinion  that 
Ingres  won  the  Grand  Prize  of  Rome  with  his 
Achilles  and  the  Ambassadors  of  Agamemnon,  and 
Ingres  in  turn  paid  Flaxman  a  compliment  by 
giving  him  a  prominent  position  in  the  famous 
Homage  to  Homer,  begun  in  the  year  of  Flaxman's 
death.  The  greatest  of  French  draughtsmen  pos- 
sessed an  original  drawing  by  the  English  master, 
depicting  the  bound  Prometheus  visited  by  the 
Oceanides,  and  this  was  treasured  along  with  the 
sketches  of  Raphael  and  the  manuscripts  of  Mo- 


zart  and  Gluck.  In  his  note-books,  preserved  in 
the  museum  at  Montauban,  the  great  Frenchman 
repeatedly  refers  with  intense  interest  and  admira- 
tion to  Flaxman,  and  he  unquestionably  bor- 
rowed the  Jupiter  of  Flaxman's  Iliad  when  he 
painted  the  Homage  to  Homer,  in  which  the  Eng- 
lish sculptor  may  be  seen  standing  beside  Mme. 
Dacier  to  the  right  of  the  enthroned  blind  poet. 
Both  artists  became  as  it  were  mediators  between 
the  realism  of  modern  times  and  the  formal  aus- 
tere idealism  of  the  ancients.  Through  Ingres, 
the  influence  of  Flaxman  extended  to  Flandrin, 
Chasserieu  and  to  Ary  Scheffer,  who  must  have 
known  the  Dante  drawing  La  bocca  mi  baccio  tutto 
tremanti  when  he  painted  his  Paolo  and  Francesca. 
Furthermore  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  Ingres,  as 
well  as  Flaxman,  owes  his  immortality  partly  to 
occasional  drawings,  executed  for  slight  remuner- 
ation. 

When  in  1794  the  Flaxmans  returned  to  London 
from  Rome,  with  a  collection  of  casts  for  Romney, 
they  took  commodious  quarters  in  Buckingham 
Street,  Fitzroy  Square,  where  the  household  in- 
cluded his  sister-in-law,  Maria  Denman,  and  his 
half-sister,  Mary  Ann  Flaxman,  thirteen  years 
his  junior  and  herself  favourably  known  as  an 
artist.  Their  life  was  very  happy  and  in  his 
famous  diary,  Henry  Crabbe  Robinson  gives 
charming  vignettes  of  the  pleasant  spirit  which 
reigned  there.  He  always  saw  the  New  Year 
in  at  their  home,  which  boasted  the  society  of 
the  Hayleys,  Samuel  Rogers,  Stothard,  Sir  Thomas 

C  132  3 


Lawrence  and  Romney.  In  1795,  the  last  year 
of  his  activity,  Romney  painted  the  original  of 
the  well-known  picture  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery,  showing  the  sculptor  at  work  on  the  bust 
of  Hayley,  with  the  latter's  son  in  the  back- 
ground. It  became  the  subject  of  an  unfortunate 
and  unseemly  wrangle  between  Hayley  and  Rom- 
ney's  son,  and  was  finally  put  into  the  possession 
of  Thomas  Greene,  who  was  Romney's  solicitor. 
Lawrence  has  also  left  fine  souvenirs  of  his  visits 
in  the  shape  of  two  beautiful  portrait  drawings 
of  Flaxman  and  his  wife,  whom  he  highly  esteemed. 
There  is,  indeed,  not  a  single  dissenting  voice  in 
the  chorus  which  all  the  commentators  of  the 
period  sing  in  Flaxman's  praise,  for  the  elevation 
of  thought  which  characterized  him  as  an  artist 
marked  him  as  a  man.  Even  the  suspicious  Rom- 
ney loved  and  admired  him,  and  Crabbe  Robinson 
takes  pleasure  in  amplifying  all  the  contemporary 
descriptions  of  his  "good-humoured,  even  frolic- 
some, kindhearted"  friend. 

Signal  honours,  dignities,  and  important  com- 
missions came  thick  and  fast  after  his  return 
from  Italy,  where  he  was  made  a  member  of  the 
Ancient  Academy  of  St.  Luke's.  During  his 
absence,  Sir  Joshua  had  died  and,  by  the  irony  of 
fate,  his  reproved  sculptor  was  now  deemed  the 
most  worthy  to  execute  the  statue  in  his  honour 
which  now  stands  under  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's. 
In  1797  he  became  an  Associate  of  the  English 
Royal  Academy,  and  in  1800,  on  presenting  it 
with  his  Apollo  and  Marpessa  —  fine  in  concep- 

[133:1 


tion  but  as  usual  weak  in  execution  —  he  was 
made  a  full  Academician.  In  1810  a  chair  of 
sculpture  was  created  for  him  and  in  connection 
with  this  office  he  delivered  the  ten  lectures  which 
have  come  down  to  us.  An  entry  in  sensible 
Crabbe  Robinson's  diary  on  February  i8th,  1811, 
reads  as  follows:  "At  the  Royal  Academy. 
Heard  Flaxman's  introductory  lecture  on  Sculp- 
ture. It  was  for  the  most  part,  or  entirely,  his- 
torical. He  endeavoured  to  show  that  in  all 
times  English  sculptors  have  excelled  when  not 
prevented  by  extraneous  circumstances.  This  gave 
great  pleasure  to  a  British  audience.  In  one  or 
two  instances,  the  lecture  was  applauded  in  a 
way  that  he  would  be  ashamed  of.  -  -  He 

spoke  like  an  artist  who  loved  and  honoured  his 
art,  but  without  any  personal  feeling.  He  had  all 
the  unpretending  simplicity  of  a  truly  great  man. 
His  unimposing  figure  received  consequence  from 
the  animation  of  his  countenance;  and  his  voice, 
though  feeble,  was  so  judiciously  managed  and 
so  clear,  and  his  enunciation  was  so  distinct,  that 
he  was  audible  to  a  large  number  of  people." 
As  printed,  the  lectures  make  dull  reading,  for 
Flaxman  was  not  an  artist  in  words,  but  his 
admiration  for  primitive  Greek,  Gothic,  and  Egyp- 
tian art  prove  that  his  taste  and  judgment  were  far 
in  advance  of  his  time.  He  contributed  various 
anonymous  articles  to  the  old  encyclopaedia  of 
Rees  and  he  was  one  of  the  experts  called  to  pass 
upon  the  wisdom  of  the  acquisition  of  the  Elgin 
marbles  by  the  English  nation.  His  professorial 

CI34U 


and  social  activities  did  not,  however,  diminish 
his  ardour  for  work,  and  he  was  busy  with  a  vast 
number  of  monuments.  Almost  one  hundred  of 
his  works  are  listed  in  the  catalogue  of  the  Royal 
Academy  exhibitions  alone  and  how  many  more 
abound  in  the  cathedrals  of  England,  no  one  has 
as  yet  taken  the  trouble  to  tell.  It  is  small  wonder 
that  in  these  he  so  often  failed  to  preserve  to  the 
end  of  his  labours  the  force  of  his  original  inspira- 
tion and  impulse,  as  he  did  in  the  drawings. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  career,  Flaxman  became 
interested  in  applied  art.  In  1817  he  designed  a 
charming  classical  tripod,  presented  to  the  actor 
John  Kemble,  and  he  began  the  still  more  impor- 
tant Shield  oj  Achilles  for  the  eminent  silver- 
smiths, Rundell  &  Bridge.  For  this  singularly 
involved  and  very  skillful  ring-shaped  composi- 
tion, inspired  by  the  celebrated  eighteenth  book 
of  the  Iliad,  he  received  £620,  and  replicas  in 
silver  were  made  for  George  IV  and  other  distin- 
guished personages.  A  plaster  copy  about  three 
feet  in  diameter  was  in  the  collection  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence,  who  led  contemporary  criticism 
by  praising  it  extravagantly  as  unsurpassed  even 
by  Michael  Angelo,  —  "a  divine  work;  unequalled 
in  its  combination  of  beauty,  variety  and  gran- 
deur." 

Flaxman's  career  suffered  a  fatal  blow  when 
his  wife  died,  after  several  strokes,  on  February 
6,  1820.  He  had  always  been  interested  in 
Swedenborgianism  and  he  now  became  more 
mystical  and  melancholy.  He  had  been  intimate 

£135:1 


with  Blake  for  many  years,  and  we  learn  with  no 
great  surprise  that  Sharp,  the  engraver,  also  a 
spiritualist,  invited  Flaxman  to  lead  the  Jews 
back  to  Jerusalem  and  become  their  chief  archi- 
tect to  rebuild  the  Temple.  While  nothing  came 
of  this,  he  withdrew  more  and  more  from  society 
and  devoted  himself  to  his  work.  In  1822  he 
addressed  the  Royal  Academy  on  the  occasion 
of  the  death  of  his  Italian  admirer,  Canova,  and 
in  the  following  year,  when  he  was  finishing  his 
Cupid,  Psyche,  Raphael,  Michael  Angela  and  other 
figures,  his  tasks  were  pleasantly  interrupted  by 
a  visit  from  Schlegel.  He  had  finished  the  ex- 
terior decorations  for  Covent  Garden  and  was  at 
work  on  designs  for  Buckingham  Palace  when  he 
became  ill.  Allan  Cunningham  gives  us  a  curious 
account  of  his  last  days.  It  appears  that  an 
admirer  arrived  at  the  sculptor's  studio  with  an 
Italian  book.  "Sir,"  said  the  visitor,  "it  was 
so  generally  believed  throughout  Italy  that  you 
were  dead,  that  my  friend,  the  author,  deter- 
mined to  show  the  world  how  much  he  esteemed 
your  genius,  and  having  this  book  ready  for  pub- 
lication, he  has  inscribed  it  ' Al  Ombra  di  Flax- 
man.'  '  Flaxman  smiled,  and  accepted  the  volume 
with  unaffected  modesty.  This  occurred  on  Sat- 
urday, the  2nd  of  December,  when  he  was  well 
and  cheerful.  The  next  day  he  was  taken  sud- 
denly ill  with  cold,  and  the  yth  (1826)  he  was 
dead.  He  was  buried  in  the  burial  ground  of 
St.  Giles-in-the-Fields,  near  the  old  St.  Pancras 
Church,  accompanied  bv  the  President  and  Coun- 


cil  of  the  Royal  Academy,  which  exhibited  his 
statue  of  John  Kemble  in  the  following  year. 

The  entire  nation  mourned  him  and  shortly 
afterwards  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  delivered  a 
eulogy  on  his  deceased  friend  to  the  students  of 
the  Academy.  This  estimate  of  Sir  Thomas, 
though  obviously  friendly,  contains  some  subtle 
criticism.  To  us,  the  drawings  which  are  now 
universally  recognized  to  be  his  most  important 
works  have  a  special  contemporary  significance. 
They  afford  a  kind  of  standard  by  which  any 
artist  might  take  the  measure  of  his  graphic 
ability.  The  power  of  Van  Gogh,  the  theoretical 
importance  of  Picasso,  and  the  dignified  failures  of 
many  post-impressionists  have  temporarily  blinded 
us  to  obvious  beauty.  We  need  something  to 
liberate  us  from  the  tyranny  of  our  more  or  less 
ugly  mode  in  art,  and  these  superb  drawings, 
incisive,  suave,  tender  or  voluptuous,  vigorous 
and  yet  serene,  aerial  in  their  delicacy,  quiet  in 
their  loveliness  and  elegant  in  execution,  like  the 
playing  of  Heifetz  and  Casals,  or  the  singing  of 
Galli-Curci,  will  again  exercise  their  imperish- 
able influence  and  help  to  carry  us  back  to  a  time 
when  the  highest  form  of  civilized  life  was  a  mani- 
festation of  noble  beauty. 


CI373 


FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES  PRINTED  DURING 
THE      MONTH     OF     DECEMBER  •  MCMXIX 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1 
Return  this  material  to  the  library 
from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


QUARTER  LOW 


Form  L'.i  -S 


-*er      ' 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001  347877    1 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
THIS  BOOK  CARD 


University  Research  Library 


